


Aya’s Darling Voldemort

by A_Perverted_Romance_Addict



Series: Aya Potter and The Dark Lord [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Touch of Drama and Angst, AU, Comedy, Dialogue Heavy, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fluff and Smut, Foul Language, M/M, Marriage, May/December Relationship, Politics, Possessive Harry Potter, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Romance, Slice of Life, Teen Pregnancy, Wedding, Yandere Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 98,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict/pseuds/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict
Summary: Engaged to the Dark Lord and pregnant with his children, Aya couldn't be happier with her life. She might not return to Hogwarts for her sixth year, but she is determined to finish her education through self-study.Between studying, pregnancy and wedding preparations, Aya is successfully navigating the world of Death Eaters and shadow politics by her (future) husband's side.Unfortunately for her, there are some who would destroy her happiness in a blink of an eye, all in the name of 'the greater good'.Unfortunately for them, she will destroy anyone who so much as leaves a scratch or a bruise on her loved ones, because no one messes with Aya Potter-Snape-Black and the people she loves and gets out of it unscathed.





	1. A Visit to Gringotts

**Author's Note:**

> 🎆🎊🎉The Aya sequel is here! 😄 After a month, I can now finally start posting the continuation of Aya Potter and the Dark Lord. 🎉🎊🎆 It's a long chapter, mostly to compensate for the wait and to make it more bearable to wait two weeks before I post the next chapter. Due to my busy schedule, I will update all of my stories every 14 days to make it easier on myself. 
> 
> Now, those of you who have read the first part should get a bit of a refresher's course with this chapter as well as a few new bits of information that weren't in the first part, and those who are new to this series, well, you could skip the first part and read this one, but if you end up confused about certain characters, their relationships and certain events ... that's on you. 
> 
> But overall, this chapter is one big date between Voldemort and Aya as they cuddle and snuggle after spending a month apart.😍 Leave kudos and comments to let me know what you think. 😄 Bookmarks and subscriptions are welcome too. 😇

_2 August 2016, Riddle Manor, 12:38_

As Voldemort entered the dining room with Aya in his arms, there were two sets of steaming dishes and cutlery laid together on the table, waiting for them. When he wanted to place her on the seat left to his at the head, she hugged his neck tighter and whined in protest.

“I want to sit in your lap,” she said, nuzzling his cheek. He sighed, but tightened his hold on her.

“Aya, if you sit in my lap, how do you expect us to eat comfortably?”

“We’ll just have to improvise, but I refuse to physically part with you,” she concluded stubbornly. “Do you even realise how many times I’ve wanted to be like this with you?”

“Not really,” he murmured, amused.

“So many times that I’ve lost count,” she announced importantly. “We’ve already lost enough time in the last month; now, I want to be as close to you as it’s physically possible.” There was a contemplative silence on her part before she added, “For the rest of the day at least. I don’t expect you to carry me around in your arms all day every day, no matter how tempting and pleasant that sounds. I know you’re a busy man trying to take over the wizarding world,” pouting.

He chuckled, before catching her lips in a brief but passionate kiss and sitting with her in his lap.

She beamed at him, squealed excitedly and snuggled closer, grazing his dick a few times. He groaned and she could feel his erection coming to life again.

“Aya, stop it,” he said hoarsely through his teeth, squeezing her waist to hold her in place. “I can only take so much, before I place you on the table and fuck you like a caveman.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” she whispered innocently, fidgeting with his collar. “In fact, I would love it.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and desire. “You would just have to be careful with my boobs. They’ve been really itchy and sensitive for a week now.”

“Aya …”

“Fine, I’ll stop,” she pouted. “It’s just that …” She sighed, trying to find the words. “You have to understand, Voldemort, that I missed you. A lot. I missed being close to you, touching you, smelling you, hearing your voice, feeling your presence.” She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged him tightly. “I know I had your horcruxes with me, but it’s not the same. They may have the same essence as you since you were once part of the same being, but they are not _you_. Not anymore. They are their own entities now, at least to some extent.”

In turn, he rested his chin on her head, tightening his hold on her as well. “I missed you too, Aya,” he admitted, sighing lowly. “You have no idea how much.”

She looked up at him, her lips split in a warm smile, and her eyes sparkled with love. “I think I do, Voldemort, darling.”

They kissed.

“Oh, for the love of Salazar!” exclaimed Gaunt, materialising next to them. “Please, stop! I can’t take it anymore!”

Aya and Voldemort separated and sent questioning and confused looks Gaunt’s way, only to realise Tom, Marvolo and Ramses have also materialised around them.

“At least they are not actually having sex,” commented Marvolo.

“Is this how it was when they had sex?” questioned Ramses.

“Oh no, that was infinite times worse than this,” explained Marvolo, waving his hand dismissively. “This is just the mellowed-down version of all the sugar, cheese and hot sauce that occurred that time.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” deadpanned Aya, still within Voldemort’s embrace. “If it bothers you so much then don’t listen, but I’m not going to stop doing what I’m doing with my husband just because you can’t handle it.”

“How can I not listen, when I’m constantly with you wherever you go and whatever you do?” complained Gaunt.

“Then, would it be easier if I took you off and left you in the bathroom every time I wanted to have sex with my husband to spare your ears the moans and the dirty talking?” suggested Aya lightly.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because if you leave me in the bathroom, you might forget to put me on after you two are done copulating,” protested Gaunt, exasperated.

“Then you’ll just have to learn how to cope with everything Voldemort and I say to each other when we are together, because if I want to be lovey-dovey with my husband I will be,” Aya remained resolute.

“And just how often do you intend to have sex with him?” asked Ramses.

“As often as we want and feel like it,” she said it as if it was the most obvious thing.

“And how often is that?” insisted Tom. “Every day? Every other day? Multiple times a day?”

“I don’t know. Why do you even want to know that?”

“So that we know when you will spend time with us instead of your husband,” clarified Marvolo.

She gaped at them. “Oh my shit. I can’t believe this,” complained Aya, huffing incredulously. “Look, just because I’m going to live and be married to Voldemort that doesn’t mean I’ll stop spending time with you, in and outside of my mental landscape.”

“No, you’ll just reduce the time with us and instead spend it with _him_ ,” said Gaunt derisively.

Aya was flabbergasted. “Well, yes. I think it is only fair and natural that I want to be with my husband as much as I can and want. Besides, you’ve been hogging all of my night-time since Valentine’s Day of my second year when I met Tom.”

The horcruxes crossed their arms and pouted. Aya wanted to laugh. Instead, she smiled gently at them and said, “Hey, I’ll always be with all of you. I won’t leave or abandon any of you.”

The horcruxes went silent and Voldemort was quiet too. They exchanged meaningful looks with one another, all aware of the weight in Aya’s words.

“Always,” they chorused.

…

Halfway through the main dish, Voldemort’s pet snake Nagini slithered into the dining room and started wrapping herself around his shoulders. Once she was comfortable, she nuzzled his cheek.

“ _How was your mice hunt?_ ” inquired Voldemort in parseltongue.

“ _Successful and very delicious_ ,” she hissed back. She turned to Aya, and started scenting her. “ _Who is this female human? She smells familiar._ ” She scented her again. “ _She smells like you … and with hatchlings_ ,” commented the snake.

“ _Nagini, meet Aya, my mate and the mother of my hatchlings. Aya, meet Nagini, my familiar._ ”

“ _Ah, so this is the female I’ve smelt on you over a month ago?_ ” remarked Nagini, eyeing Aya up and down appraisingly. “ _Well … you seem happier than you did in over a month, so I suppose she’s suitable to be your mate._ ”

“ _I’m honoured you approve of me, Nagini, because I plan to spend a very long time by Voldemort’s side, showering him with cuddles and kisses_ ,” said Aya, shocking the snake.

“ _She speaks!_ ” Nagini hissed excitedly. “ _You have chosen well, Tom!_ ”

Voldemort chuckled. “ _Well, I’m glad you approve of my choice._ ”

…

At 13:20, Barty came to inform them that the carriage had arrived and was waiting for them at the front door.

After a quick trip to the toilet, they made their way through the foyer to the carriage.

“Wow,” breathed Aya, her voice full of awe as she stared at the magnificent black carriage with intricate gold organic ornament design and enormous gold wheels, equipped with four oil lanterns on each corner and drawn by a couple of thestrals. Even the coachman, who was an elderly man with shoulder-length, silver, thin hair tied at the neck with a ribbon, wore a black uniform with gold accents.

Voldemort opened the door for her and helped her climb in, before hopping inside himself. The interior too looked highly sophisticated with padded seats covered with expensive and fine-looking black leather. There were curtains for privacy or to keep out the sun, while the floor and the ‘walls’ were covered in gold velvet.

“Voldemort,” breathed Aya, turning to him with sparkling eyes, “this is amazing. We have to do a few more trips by carriage while I’m pregnant, even if we’re just travelling from town to town.”

Voldemort chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.” Then, he spoke directly to the coachman through the small window. “To Diagon Alley, London, at slightly above average speed on ground, please.”

A moment later, the thestrals started to move and Aya settled into Voldemort’s side, resting her head on his shoulder, while he draped his arm over hers, keeping her close, and resting his cheek on top of her head.

“Voldemort,” she whispered not long after. He mumbled. “Are you in the mood to play some games?”

“Not really,” murmured Voldemort, “but you will still probably show me a few regardless.”

“Well, yeah, I want to show you games you might find enjoyable,” she said. “You know; when you’re feeling stressed or overwhelmed with work, you might feel in the mood for stress-relieving games like Solitaire, Chess, Mahjong, Spank the Monkey,” enumerated Aya.

“Spank the Monkey?” repeated Voldemort incredulously.

“Yeah, the goal is to bitch slap the monkey over 200 miles per hour and you can keep doing it, until you get tired of slapping that monkey doll,” she explained matter-of-factly. “I’ll show you if you want. Or if you prefer violence, I know plenty of violent videogames too, whether it’s shooting or fighting.” She paused.  “But there’s a problem,” she said with gravity.

“What’s the problem?”

“We don’t have a computer or consoles in the manor,” she said, horrified. “And that’s where most games play the best and the graphics are on point.” She thought for a bit. “I mean I could try and see if I can bring at least some of the technology from Grimmauld Place to the manor,” she thought aloud, “but both Sirius and Severus like to play videogames when they can, but it’s mostly consoles.” She frowned pensively. “Maybe I can transfer the PC here and either the Xbox, Play Station or Wii U.”

She turned her head to look at his face. “Voldemort, I suppose you didn’t really set up any muggle technology friendly wards or the Internet ever since you moved into the Riddle Manor, or did you?”

“No, I didn’t set up anything; there isn’t even any electricity or central heating because the bills have not been paid for years.”

“While we’re at Gringotts, we might as well hire them to ward the manor.”

“Only if the warding team takes an unbreakable vow of secrecy, because I’m not risking exposing my return over gaining access to electricity, the Internet and muggle entertainment technology.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed, “but just a friendly reminder: secrets don’t stay secrets forever. So whatever you’re planning to do to take over the wizarding Britain and get rid of Dumbledore, you might want to speed things up.” She thought for a second. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“Well … the plan is to infiltrate the enemy from within in all branches of society and then make a surprise coup d’état of sorts.”

“Ah,” she breathed in understanding. “You’re going to be all: ‘Surprise! It’s a me, Voldemort!’” dramatized Aya.

As the image of Voldemort wearing Mario’s cap, moustache and suit formed in her mind, she burst into laughter. He looked at her, extremely confused and slightly worried. “Oh my shit! This is hilarious,” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “You as Mario … priceless.”

Who was Mario and why was she comparing him to him?

Collecting herself a bit, she said, “Although with how tall and thin you are, you would be suitable to cosplay as Luigi.” She gasped dramatically. “I know what we should cosplay for this upcoming Hallowe’en!” she said, grinning excitedly.

For some reason, Voldemort was sceptical about her newest idea.

“You could cosplay as King Bowser and I could cosplay as Princess Peach and then you’re going to kidnap me to your castle and bedroom, where you will ravage me all night long until I’m so full of your cum my pussy will be overflowing.”

She was already imagining the scenario in her head and even though Voldemort had no idea who Bowser and Peach were, any scenario with him making love to Aya seemed like a good idea. Especially where Aya’s pussy and womb were full of his seed.

“It sounds delightful,” he commented, aroused, “but I’m afraid I do not know about Bowser and Peach.”

She turned to him, scandalised. “We must immediately rectify that then,” she said importantly and proceeded to show him pictures of Bowser and Peach together, some of them cute and sweet, but most were smutty.

Now it was Voldemort’s turn to be shocked and scandalised by her tastes.

Once she deemed Voldemort had enough dosage of smutty material for one day, she returned to what they were talking about before their slight detour into porn Mario world: setting up electricity and the Internet for muggle technology at the manor.

She cleared her throat. “Okay, returning back to what we were talking about earlier in regards to warding the manor against magic interference with electricity and muggle electrical appliances.”

“Yes?”

“After we have the warding team and the goblins swearing a magically binding oath not to reveal anything about your return, we have to get a muggle electrical and telecommunications company to come install the wiring and connect us to the power grid.”

“And just how much money is that going to be?”

“Uh … well … when we did it for Grimmauld Place, we didn’t really pay anything because we confunded the company workers into basically installing electricity and the Internet from our neighbours, so we’ve been like parasites to our neighbours, taking electricity from 11 Grimmauld Place and the Internet connection from 13 Grimmauld Place.”

“If we can somehow manage to do it for free as well, I’m all for it, because I really don’t want to deal with muggle bills.”

Aya thought for a moment. “What if we generated our own electricity?” she suggested excitedly. “I mean there are generators that can be powered by wind, water, steam. We could use solar energy instead of central heating to keep the manor warm when we need it, but also for electricity. It might be complicated, because we would have to memory charm a few people along the way to set everything up, but do you think it would work?”

“I’m not very knowledgeable on anything muggle,” admitted Voldemort, “but I’m sure we can find something if we do some research.”

Aya immediately typed ‘how to produce your own electricity’ in the Google search bar. She immediately found a wikiHow article with practically the same title, only that instead of ‘produce’ it had ‘make’ in it.

She scrolled through the article and read a few things aloud. It mentioned using solar energy and solar panels, wind turbines, micro-hydro generators and different types of batteries. At the bottom of the article, there was a section titled ‘ _Related wikiHows_ ’, where there were other similarly themed articles.

She continued to look for articles from other sites and found a couple that provided helpful insight. However, she almost got a heart attack when she read the approximate cost of a bank of batteries for a stand-alone system for one home.

“Oh my shit,” she gasped, breathing dramatically, clutching her chest. “Voldemort, look at this.” She showed him the screen. “Just look at this number, ten to thirty _thousand_ dollars. And you have to change the batteries every six to eight years.” She buried her face into his shoulder in defeat. “That’s too expensive,” she complained. “Unless we hit Jackpot somewhere, we will never gather enough to buy all the batteries and the solar panels and the wind turbines and the rest of the shit … _shit_.”

“What kind of dollars are we speaking about? American, Canadian, Australian?” inquired Voldemort.

“New Zealand dollars.”

“Can you look up the exchange rate between the New Zealand Dollar and the British Pound?”

She immediately typed ‘New Zealand Dollar to Pound’ into the Google search bar and typed 10,000 into the slot. The currency calculator calculated those ten thousand NZ dollars were worth over 5,000 pounds, which in wizard money equalled roughly over 1,000 galleons, which was still too expensive. Even Voldemort agreed.

“What if we simply go to a store, get what we need, memory charm the staff so, even if they know someone stole something, they won’t be able to remember who was the thief,” he proposed.

“What about surveillance cameras?”

“We disable them on the spot with magic and any recording with our faces on.”

Aya frowned sceptically. “I don’t know, Voldemort. I mean, it does sound tempting simply to steal, but even when I was refurbishing Grimmauld Place with my father Sirius, I paid for all the furniture, paint, and technology, and it wasn’t cheap. I mean, I basically spent all the money from my trust vault.”

Voldemort shrugged. “If we’re trying to limit how much money we spend on the equipment for our own off-grid electricity, stealing all, or at least certain, components is our best option.”

“True.” She sighed. “Well … we still have some time, but not too much, if we can get it done in a month or two that would be awesome.”

“We’ll see.”

They fell into a pleasant silence. Aya was back to leaning into Voldemort and he was still hugging her to his body.

“So,” she began tentatively, sending a sideway glance his way, “… no games then?”

“You can play if you want, I’ll just watch,” he told her.

“Well, if you don’t want to play games, then maybe we could do something else,” countered Aya. “After all, we still have a little less than three hours of journey, so until we reach our destination we can do different things. We could watch funny videos, listen to music, talk. I’m really curious about certain things concerning you.”

He glanced down at her. “What are you curious about?”

“What happened after you left the school with the stone? What happened with Quirrel? How and when did you meet up with Barty? How and when did you get that rudimentary body? When and how exactly did you start spying on me? … Things like that,” she elaborated.

He let out a heavy sigh. There was a long silence on his side, before he finally said, “Fine. I suppose I should start at the beginning and move chronologically to when we reunited in the cemetery.”

“Sounds great to me,” grinned Aya.

“When I left Hogwarts, still possessing Quirrell, I told him how to get to the Riddle Manor where we would take refuge. Almost immediately, Quirrell began making the Elixir, but the process was long and required a lot of energy, something that Quirrell didn’t have much because of the possession.”

“Is it normal for something like this to happen when someone is possessing another?”

“Possession is very much like Blood Adoption in a sense. As you said, blood types need to be compatible for the Blood Adoption to work and not result in death. Similarly, the possession can be successful and harmless if the magical cores of witches and wizards are compatible.”

“And Quirrell’s core wasn’t compatible with yours.”

He shook his head. “I have a very prominent Dark core while Quirrell had a Light-Grey core, meaning that his magic, despite being rather neutral, was still leaning towards the Light. Therefore, we clashed too much and since I was a foreign body, relying on his body and life force to have a form of sorts, his body saw me as a parasite and wanted to expel me on its own. That’s why my wraith manifested on the back of his head.”

“So … if your and his cores had both been Dark, or at least Dark-Grey, there wouldn’t have been any external signs of possession?” thought Aya aloud.

“Exactly, it would still be true even in the case of prolonged possession since instead of a parasitic relationship, the relationship would have been symbiotic and beneficial for both. Anyway,” he breathed, “as we were working on the Elixir, one day, out of nowhere, Winky appeared, asking me to save Barty. Apparently, his father, Crouch Senior, was keeping him under an Imperius for almost a decade, keeping him locked and hidden under a Cloak of Invisibility to prevent him from looking for me.”

Aya gasped, disgusted. “That’s horrible. Why would his own father do something like that to him?”

“Mainly to keep him from returning to my side, but also to cover up the fact Barty escaped from Azkaban with the help of his mother.”

“Barty was in Azkaban?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that fact, given he is a proud and loyal Death Eater and he probably killed and tortured others in your name, but still.”

Voldemort looked uncomfortable. “I’ll let Barty tell you the exact reason why he ended in Azkaban, when he feels ready to disclose such information, but the point is that, your father Sirius wasn’t the first one who escaped Azkaban. Barty was the first one, but to this day no one knows.”

“And when and how exactly did he get out?”

“The same way I got my Death Eaters out of Azkaban a couple of years ago,” he said enigmatically. Aya frowned in thought. “Polyjuice Potion, Aya.” Her expression lit up in recognition.

“Barty’s mother’s health declined quickly in the year following Barty’s imprisonment, so she managed to convince her husband to let her visit him and during her visit, she brought two doses of Polyjuice Potion with her. Then, she took her son’s place inside the cell by looking like him and Barty was escorted out, looking like his mother. His mother died shortly after the switch and never reverted back to her true form.”

“Wow,” was all Aya could say.

Barty’s mother’s sacrifice reminded Aya of her own mother giving her life for her and she was sure she would be willing to do the same for her children and Voldemort. Her hand went to her abdomen. She just hoped it would never come to something like that, because while dying for one’s loved ones was a sign of love, living and staying alive for them was a sign of love and dedication as well.

But life was unpredictable and bad luck never rested.

“Yes,” agreed Voldemort, before continuing his story. “Winky couldn’t bear to see him like that anymore so she came to me since she couldn’t do much herself. Winky informed us when Barty’s father would be absent, so that Quirrell could infiltrate the house and free Barty unnoticed. We took him directly to the manor, where Quirrell released him from the Imperius Curse. He was weak and confused and needed several days to get used to his surroundings and himself again. In the meantime, the Elixir was almost complete, but a day before its completion, Quirrell passed away, crumbling to dust.”

“Poor Quirrell,” lamented Aya. “I didn’t really interact much with him, but it must have been horrible watching and feeling your own body fall apart … literally.”

“Most definitely,” he agreed. “After him, Barty took over and I tried to get a body by fusing myself with the Elixir in my wraith form, but it didn’t work. Instead, Barty offered himself to be my host. This time, the possession was successful, because my Dark core didn’t come into conflict with Barty’s Dark-Grey one.”

“And all of this happened before my second year?” she inquired.

“Yes. I got my rudimentary body by the end of your second year, after Barty and I spent months pouring over books, trying to find a way to give me a body. We stumbled upon the Regeneration Ritual first and as soon as I read that it required the blood of the enemy, meaning you, I didn’t want to use it.”

“Why?”

He looked into her eyes, caressing her cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you,” he admitted. She covered his hand and leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. “You surprised me with your attitude and the way your brain worked that I didn’t want to do it.”

She let out a breathy chuckle and he pressed his forehead to hers. They stayed like this for a while, enjoying the proximity of one another.

“… And also because my fascination overshadowed any animosity I felt for you.”

Their eyes met and she felt her heart swell at Voldemort’s words. Her lips split into a toothy grin as she stared into her husband’s red eyes full of unspoken emotion.

After a while, he cleared his throat and continued.

“Therefore, I looked for an alternative. And we found it. It was a very obscure Japanese ritual for creating a body out of a very specific list of ingredients, unicorn blood, snake venom and a person’s soul. While we were searching and gathering ingredients, we stumbled upon Nagini, who volunteered to provide her venom, but only if she was allowed to become my familiar. I told her that once I had a body of my own, we would bond as master and familiar. It was then that I was tempted to make Nagini into another horcrux, but decided against it, because it just didn’t feel right to do it.”

“It took us a while to get all of the ingredients, but we did by the end of your second year. We performed the ritual as instructed, however, instead of an adult’s body; I was stuck in an infant’s body. Neither Barty nor I understood what exactly went wrong. It wasn’t until a month or so later that I considered my incomplete soul might have been the reason the ritual didn’t work as I expected. At that time, the outside reflected what was on the inside. Given that I had split my soul six times, the piece of soul that I was left with was so small and weak that it resembled an infant.”

He sighed.

“In any case, the news of Sirius Black’s escape reached Barty and me, and it gave me the idea, together with what Barty’s mother did to get Barty out, to free my Death Eaters. I had Barty contact Lucius and my other free followers. Between all of us, we managed to get enough Polyjuice Potion for all of my followers and in their place; we placed Aurors stationed as guards in Azkaban. At the same time, we got Dementors on our side so that they wouldn’t intervene or alert anyone at the Ministry. I left Bellatrix Lestrange as the warden, while I made plans how exactly I was going to infiltrate some of my most loyal Death Eaters into positions of power at the Ministry.”

“Nice,” praised Aya, truly impressed.

“I know, even I surprise myself with such good ideas,” he retorted, grinning mischievously. She laughed.

“Shortly after Easter holidays in 2014, however, Pettigrew found me and begged me to take him in as a follower,” he grimaced. “I was sceptical, especially because of the entire Sirius Black mess and Pettigrew’s role in everything. I thought to myself, ‘if he betrayed his friends under pressure, he would have done the same to me, if Dumbledore got his hands on him while he worked for me’. Nevertheless, I kept him around, I marked him, something I didn’t do the first time around, but I was ready to discard him at any given moment. In the meantime, you were finishing your third year and I managed to get one of my Death Eaters, Augustus Rookwood, to pose as Head of the Department of Mysteries.”

Seeing her confused and pensive frown made him chuckle. “Don’t worry; I’ll introduce you to my followers in a day or two, so that you get to know them and they can meet you.” He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him, flush against his chest. “As my wife, woman and the mother of my child,” he said in a deeply seductive voice that sent pleasant shivers down Aya’s spine.

She straddled his hips and hugged his shoulders. They kissed, their kiss a firm and passionate press of the lips.

He cleared his throat again. “Augustus heard Amelia Bones was going to legally represent Sirius Black and that she was going to push for a trial to prove his innocence and that in the meantime she was also going to fight for home arrest and visitation rights from his goddaughter, you,” continued Voldemort, hugging her waist. “That was when I tasked the Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan, to pose as American transfer Aurors Polordhus Trangeles and Nastarab Trangeles and act as Sirius’ bodyguards … and your spies.”

Aya gaped at him.

Her shock and speechlessness amused him greatly. “I know, that was the best idea I had in a while,” he teased.

She let out a huff of disbelief, but the corners of her lips were curling upwards. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Why, thank you, I do try my best.”

She pressed her lips to subdue her smile and frowned playfully.

He chuckled. “Moving on, that’s also how I learnt Severus and Sirius wanted to adopt you, but until Sirius Black was a fugitive and deemed a convicted criminal, chances weren’t very high. So, I had my spies do some research and, by the beginning of December, I had already decided to turn Pettigrew in, but before I did that I had to make sure he would be unable to reveal anything about me.”

“Ah,” she breathed in understanding, “and that’s when you decided to send me a letter through Barty.”

Voldemort shrugged. “I couldn’t help myself. I thought it was a good way to thank you for your assistance, but also just to get in contact with you. Even though I expected a reply, I didn’t expect our correspondence to become what it became. And I was also really curious what exactly you were doing with my horcruxes and if you knew what they were,” he explained. “When you told me you were a horcrux as well, I needed a few days of contemplation simply to wrap my head around the fact I had made an unintentional horcrux, a horcrux that was also a living, breathing human being.”

“You said in one of the letters that your plans changed when you learnt of my status. How did they change?”

“Before the reveal, in case I acted openly against Dumbledore, I would have left you be and would not involve you in any way. In fact, had you wished to go to a safe house, I would have made it happen, but knowing you were carrying a piece of my soul, I knew I needed you close, make sure you were safe and protected.”

She mumbled sarcastically. “That’s why you graciously entered me into a mortally dangerous tournament.”

“My spies learnt about the negotiations to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament and reported to me once it was definite it would take place during your fifth year at Hogwarts. At the same time, I continued looking for a way to get an adult body, but there was no other Potion or Ritual except the Regeneration Ritual. Therefore, tempering with the Cup, turning it into a two-way portkey for the final task and having you compete as a champion seemed like the best idea to get you to me. If your life had been endangered at any point, Barty, posing as Bagman, and Rodolphus, posing as Polordhus, were given strict orders to keep an eye out for you and intervene.”

“And what if I hadn’t been the first to touch the Cup?” wondered Aya, “What would you have done then?”

“Again, Barty had a device on his person that allowed him to see through the hedge, so, if he spotted anyone else getting closer to the Cup before you, he was to misdirect them by closing off paths, forcing them to go the long way. Fortunately that didn’t happen since you decided to cheat the system,” he concluded, grinning.

Aya smiled. “Okay, so is that everything?”

Voldemort thought for a moment. “Mostly,” he said.

“What else is there?”

“After the New Year of your fourth year, I had Draco Malfoy act as my spy on you, and I had him write weekly reports on what you were doing as well as share his memories of you.”

Aya made another shocked and scandalised face. “I knew something was off with him,” she exclaimed. “That little …” she didn’t finish, but it wasn’t difficult to guess what she thought. “Did you also by any chance speak with some of the Slytherin students’ parents about me?”

He at least had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “I might have had a meeting during summer holidays before your fifth year with a couple of them,” he allowed, only to say, “Okay, all those who are my followers or supporters,” after she stared blankly at him at his earlier admission. “I wanted you to succeed and I didn’t want people from Slytherin to harbour and display negativity towards you.”

She relaxed her frown into a smile full of tenderness and love. “Does it bother you?” he questioned tentatively. “Knowing I was the one behind all these things?”

She caressed his cheeks, before cupping his face and placing a gentle and loving kiss on his lips. When she pulled back, she hummed in thought, before saying, “No, no, I’m not. I probably should be, but then again, I’m weird and I think that you spying on me through other people and threatening bodily harm to anyone who harms me is extremely sweet, cute, romantic and sexy. So, don’t worry, darling, I’m not mad or bothered,” she assured him, leaning forward for another kiss.

He tightened his hold on her and deepened the kiss. She let him explore with his tongue, moaning softly when he grazed the roof of her mouth, until she joined in with her tongue, twisting and dancing with his.

While his fingers were entangled in her hair, she moved her hands downwards, touching his chest, his stomach, slowly moving to his sides, his waist. She gently rolled her hips, rubbing her panty-covered pussy against his clothed arousal, and hooked her fingers around his belt.

Voldemort’s breath hitched and he shivered under her fingers. Their lips separated for air for barely an inch and he held her face between his hands. His eyes turned deep red with desire as he tried to catch his breath.

“Aya …” he rasped, barely holding onto his self-control.

In response, she rocked her hips again, then leaned forward and licked a long stripe from his chin, over his mouth and nose slits, before latching onto his neck, eliciting goosebumps and more shivers.

He closed his eyes and his breathing shook as he let her shower him with affection.

“ _Aya_ ,” he hissed her name in parseltongue. Longing, desire and love permeating his voice.

She kissed his jaw and slowly moved back towards his lips, while his hands moved under her skirt, caressing and squeezing her soft and supple thighs, his claws leaving behind small marks. His hands moved to her ass, where he squeezed and kneaded, earning himself more soft moans and groans, as she continued moving her hips.

She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers and was reaching out for his cock, when a bump on the road abruptly broke them out of their trance and reminded them that they were still in a carriage, a moving carriage.

Winded, she rested her forehead on his shoulder. “ _Dammit_ ,” she cursed under her breath and, with his heart beating violently in his chest, still painfully hard, he couldn’t agree more. Her hand was still in his pants. “ _I really want to make love with you, Voldemort,_ ” she moaned wantonly.

“ _Me too,_ ” he whispered, because he wasn’t sure if he could will down his erection at this point without release.

She locked eyes with him. “ _May I?_ ” She grazed his erection.

 “ _Yes,_ ” he hissed eagerly, his forked tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

When her delicate and soft fingers wrapped themselves around his shaft and squeezed gently, Voldemort’s entire body tensed in pleasure. For a moment, he stopped breathing as he let the sensation flood his nerves and his head lolled back onto the seat.

She started slow, experimenting with pressure, moving up and down his length. His breathing quickened and he could hear his heart hammering in his temples; he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He clung onto Aya’s hips, while she continued to move her hand on his cock.

It didn’t take him long to tense beneath her as he came with a groan, hissing her name, strings of cum shooting out of his throbbing and twitching cock, onto her hand and dress. Not that she seemed to mind, quite the contrary. She brought her cum-covered hand to her mouth and began licking his cum off her skin sensually.

He observed her with glazed and hooded eyes as she slowly sucked her digits, letting out soft moans of delight at the taste of his cum. When her hand was clean, she leaned forward, caging him against the seat and whispered, “ _Delicious_ ,” in parseltongue against his lips, before lining them and slipping her tongue inside his mouth, languidly caressing his.

He responded eagerly to the kiss.

Trying to return the favour, one of his hands slipped between her legs and he started to rub her pussy through the fabric of her panties. She whimpered softly into his mouth and her legs spread some more.

He continued to caress her, until she was a whimpering mess in his lap, her chest heaving and her breath shallow. Her eyes closed shut and she let him touch her as much as he wanted.

“ _Voldemort_ ,” she moaned.

When her panties were soaking wet, he moved them to the side to touch her bare skin and coat his fingers in her sweet nectar. She let out a whimper and her face contorted with pleasure. She was close. And he revelled in the way she looked as pleasure slowly expanded and took over her body. It was truly a mesmerising and erotic sight.

He was tempted to slip inside her with his finger, but he didn’t want to harm her with his claw. Instead, he sought out the bud between her folds at the peak and rubbed it vigorously. She twitched as more eager moans and sighs continued to leave her lips. Not long after, her entire body tensed and she came, moaning his name. Then, she collapsed against him and shook in his lap, her body still recovering from the orgasm.

He brought an arm around her, hugging her, and let her rest. While she was recovering her breath, however, he brought his soaked fingers to his mouth and licked off her nectar in a similar way she did with his cum.

“ _You’re delicious_ ,” he hissed seductively into her ear and she smiled.

He hugged her and she hugged him, and they remained like that for a while, before Voldemort vanished any trace of their body fluids.

Content, satiated and with a little over an hour and a half of the journey, Aya showed him memories she had promised him about Barty, as well as the memory of how she found out she was pregnant.

…

_2 August 2016, 12 Grimmauld Place, 8:03_

Sirius turned and sighed for the fifth consecutive time in the last five minutes.

“If you continue to sigh like this, your soul will end up leaving your body,” commented Severus hoarsely, still drowsy from sleep.

“I can’t sleep,” replied Sirius, staring pensively at the ceiling.

Severus slowly opened his eyes and observed Sirius’ wide-awake expression. “What’s bothering you?”

Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “Voldemort is bothering me,” replied Sirius gravely. Severus propped himself up on his elbow and waited for Sirius to elaborate.

“I want to hate him,” he said, “I do hate him for going behind our backs to talk with Aya and have sex with her and getting her pregnant. I hate him for taking away my best mate and Aya’s parents.” He paused. “Yet at the same time, he went out of his way to help me prove my innocence. He definitely didn’t do it for me or because it was the right thing to do, he did it for Aya. Nevertheless, I’m grateful, because if he hadn’t handed Pettigrew in, I still might have been a convicted criminal awaiting trial only to be sentenced again for not having sufficient evidence and I would never have had the opportunity to be a proper godfather and now father to Aya.” He turned to Severus. “And I definitely would not have been able to have what I have with you, Severus.”

His voice cracked, his eyes watered, and he had to clear his throat to chase away the knot that formed inside his throat.

Severus ran his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “You’re feeling guilty,” he observed.

“Yes,” admitted Sirius, “I feel guilty for not hating that fucker as much as I used to and quite frankly should. And now that he’s basically going to be our son-in-law, the father of our grandchildren, the one who makes Aya happy, I can’t hate him and I can’t possibly work against him without risking to lose Aya. Yet, if I work with him and actually get along with him and end up thinking he isn’t so bad, it would feel like I’m betraying James and his memory and everything he stood and fought for.”

Sirius let out another heavy sigh.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I don’t want to side with Dumbledore either. Not after he didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt or fight for a trial, nor after how he treated you when you went to him for help, or how he just left Aya with those muggles and then, when we wanted to adopt her, he even had the gall to oppose it.”

He had to pause for a bit and get his temper under control.

“The only reason I would get involved in a war at this point is to protect you, Aya, and now her baby and … possibly Voldemort, if only so that Aya doesn’t have to suffer seeing him in pain and injured.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Severus.

Sirius couldn’t agree more.

They stayed in bed a while longer, before they finally left its comfort and swapped it for a quick shower and morning routine. As they passed Aya’s door on their way to breakfast, they decided to let her sleep. They would have more than enough time to speak with her again, now that they’ve slept on the news from the previous evening.

At breakfast, two owls arrived; one carried their daily newspaper and magazine subscriptions and the other carried a list of schoolbooks and supplies for sixth year Hogwarts students, the form for N.E.W.T.-level subjects and Aya’s O.W.L. results.

They opened both envelopes addressed to Aya. Pride and joy blossomed in Sirius’ chest when he read she got an Outstanding in all subjects except History of Magic and Astronomy, where she got an E. When Severus saw the report, he felt the same.

After breakfast, they retired to the drawing room, where they spent the time playing videogames or watching TV, until it was time for lunch and Aya still hadn’t come out of her room.

Weird. She usually got up by eleven, maybe eleven-thirty.

For some reason, Sirius had a bad feeling and though Severus tried to dismiss it as simple paranoia, he was worried too. They knocked on her door and called to her, but she didn’t reply. They entered the room only to find it empty.

“She left, Severus,” breathed Sirius, agitated, raking his fingers through his locks. “She left because of the way I handled the news yesterday. I drove her away.”

While Sirius was panicking, Severus spotted the letter and opened it. It read:

_Papa Sev, Papa Siri,_

_I hope that when you read this letter, I’m well on my way to Voldemort and if everything goes well, then I intend to move in with him today._

_Before you panic and assume the worst, I’m not angry with you. I’m simply pursuing my happiness with the man I love and the father of my child. I know you don’t like that fact, but it is what it is._

_I have no doubt you will follow me as soon as you read this, ready to lynch Voldemort, but I beg you not to make things difficult and violent (especially you Siri). Don’t make me choose between you and Voldemort, because I don’t want to lose either. You will always be my parents and I will always love you, but Voldemort is the one I want to spend my life with and that means sharing a bed under the same roof. Just like you are sharing yours._

_With lots of love,_

_Your daughter Aya_

By the time Severus finished reading, Sirius managed to calm down. “So … I can’t even punch him once?” he asked disappointed.

“Knowing Aya, not even once,” said Severus.

“Fuck,” cursed Sirius under his breath in defeat. “So what do we do then?”

“First, we’re going to have lunch, then, we’re going to apparate to Little Hangleton and search for the mansion,” said Severus. “As far as I can tell, it’s not a big town, so it should be easy to find.”

“Fine,” he agreed begrudgingly. “But first, I need to let off some steam. Want to join me for a few rounds of Mortal Kombat filled with brutalities and fatalities?”

Severus thought for a bit. “Sure,” he said, “why not.” After all, he too was itching to punch the Dark Lord at least once.

…

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron at 16:38, several minutes earlier than anticipated.

Just before they left the carriage, Voldemort put a glamour in parseltongue to disguise them from others but not one another.

After telling the coachman to wait for them, they walked to Gringotts. As the wall formed into an archway, the sight of a bustling and crowded alley greeted them.

“Oh, right, it’s already time for school shopping,” breathed Aya. Her eyes landed on the children rather than adults. “Oh, look so many first years! So cute!” she squealed excitedly, turning towards Voldemort.

Voldemort immediately let an arm slip around her waist and pressed her close to him and she returned the gesture, by grabbing onto his waist.

“I remember my first time here like it was yesterday,” she said as they walked through the crowd, her gaze distant, losing herself in memories. “I can’t believe it’s already been five years since I came here for the first time.”

She looked at him with excited eyes. “I made it into an entire expedition,” she announced proudly. “I was armed with a rucksack where I had my muggle money, two sandwiches, water, and maps for navigation, and train, bus and tube schedules,” she enumerated. “It took me most of the day to get everything, but it was totally worth it, because I could explore everything at my heart’s content. Without anyone telling me where I have to go to get things.”

“And did you by any chance explore Knockturn Alley?”

“No,” she said, “it took me long enough to get through Diagon Alley from one end to the other and visiting every single shop for me to be in the mood for extra exploring.”

He chuckled.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just curious.”

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. She huffed, facing forward. They were halfway across the alley now.

“And you?” she asked, after a beat of silence. “Do you remember your first time in Diagon Alley?”

“I do,” he said simply.

“And?” she pressed for more information. “Did you also do your shopping alone or did a teacher accompany you?”

“I did it alone,” he said. “Like you said, it gave me more freedom to explore, but it was also confusing, especially navigating the currency system.”

“Oh, yeah,” she groaned. “That was a pain in the ass. To be honest, I still sometimes forget how many Knuts are in a Sickle and how many Sickles are in a Galleon, but I know it’s _very_ random. Like, why can’t wizards have normal exchange rates? But then again, in Tudor times, even the muggle British exchange rates and currency were so damn complicated; it gave people headaches.”

They arrived at the bank quarter to five and immediately called on the Potter Family manager.

He led them to his office. Once they were inside, Voldemort undid the glamour.

Griphook’s eyes widened once he recognised Voldemort’s appearance.

“Please,” he said smoothly, “do not be alarmed. Miss Potter and I are here to do some personal business.”

He glanced between them, before relaxing in his seat and threading his fingers. “Very well,” he said. “What business brings you here?”

“Marriage and inheritance,” Voldemort informed him.

“And anti-magic interference warding,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes, that as well,” said Voldemort.

The goblin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Marriage?” he repeated.

“You see,” began Aya, “Voldemort and I would like to get married, but we need to get a few things in order before we do the ritual.”

“And when exactly were you planning … to get married?” inquired Griphook, still trying to come to terms with the fact that the infamous Dark wizard who went by the name Lord Voldemort and the alleged Saviour, Aya Potter-Snape-Black wanted to get married. This could only mean one thing: the world as that knew it was ending. Whether that was a good or a bad thing remained to be seen.

Aya and Voldemort exchanged looks.

“Well, if it were up to me I would marry him this instant,” said Aya, smiling warmly at her future husband, gently squeezing his hand and kissing the back of it, “but as long as we make it official by the third trimester and have my parents and friends present, I don’t really care about the date.”

Voldemort’s lips curled in a subdued smile, squeezing back and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “I was thinking we should get married on winter solstice, December 21st this year.”

“Oh,” she breathed, intrigued. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s the day that marks the symbolic death and rebirth of the Sun,” explained Voldemort. “It is also the day when the nights start to get shorter and the days longer.”

She grinned. “I like it.”

Griphook cleared his throat when it seemed the two have drifted off into their own little world. “As wonderful as it sounds, I’m afraid that, unless Miss Potter acquires written permission from her adoptive parents, she cannot get married before turning seventeen.”

“If we want to get married on December 21st,”asked Voldemort, “what’s the latest date we can acquire the permission to get married?”

“Theoretically speaking, on the wedding day, but if there is no permission by the time the goblin or the Ministry official presiding over the ritual arrives to the scene, the ceremony cannot take place and you would have to pay the cancellation fee,” explained the goblin. “However, I would advise that you submit the parental permission one work day before the actual ceremony at the latest. Until then, you are still free to draw any kind of contract you would like between the two of you.”

“And what do marriage contracts usually entail?” questioned Aya.

“The standard contents are spouses’ general and specific obligations and duties to one another, the heirs, the distribution of inheritance titles among them, things of that nature. Some add other personal clauses such as the non-infidelity clause, the non-aggression clause, the clause about the frequency of sexual intercourse, sometimes even the minutia of allowed and forbidden sexual acts, etcetera.”

Aya and Voldemort were horrified by what some people put into marriage contracts. Where was the communication and trust? And what happens if you forget about a certain minuscule detail in the contract in the heat of the moment? Are you going to be punished by law or magic for accidentally biting your partner’s nipple, when he or she had put a clause in the contract that biting nipples is a forbidden sexual act?

They looked at each other, mirroring the other’s expression, and mutely and mutually agreed they were not going to put anything like that in their marriage contract … if they even decided to have one.

“We’ll think about whether we even want to have a marriage contract or not,” said Voldemort.

“As you wish,” retorted the goblin.

“Now, onto the inheritance,” he said. “Both Miss Potter and I would like to see our current financial state.”

The goblin swivelled in his seat and opened a drawer marked as ‘IT’. “That will be two inheritance tests, five galleons each,” he said as he took out two parchment sheets and placed them before them, together with two silver blades, one for each. “Three drops of blood directly onto the parchment,” instructed Griphook.

Voldemort took out his money pouch and produced ten galleons to pay the test fee. Then, Aya and him pricked their index fingers and let three drops of blood fall onto the parchment. The blood sank into the parchment as soon as it came into contact with it, and after the third drop, letters and numbers became visible.

…

**Inheritance Test for: Tom Marvolo Riddle**

**Titles:**

Tom Marvolo Riddle is

  * Lord Slytherin,
  * Lord Peverell and
  * Lord Gaunt.



**Properties:**

Tom Marvolo Riddle owns the following magical properties:

  * ¼ of Hogwarts (Chamber of Secrets is included),
  * Slytherin Manor and Estate,
  * Peverell Manor and Estate and
  * Gaunt Shack.



**Vaults:**

Tom Marvolo Riddle has access to the following vaults at Gringotts, London:

  * #7: 231,111,111 galleons 56,650 sickles 56 knuts
  * #13: 115,555,555 galleons 169,950 sickles 112 knuts
  * #182: 67 sickles 276 knuts



As of 2 August 2016, 16:58, the total sum is 346,666,666 galleons 226,667 sickles and 444 knuts.

…

Voldemort stared at his results, not really comprehending how exactly he had so much money and while he was aware of his Gaunt and Slytherin ancestry, he was surprised to find out he was apparently a descendant of the Peverells and the current Lord as well.

Beside him, Aya breathed heavily, counting the number of ciphers at the bottom of the page to see if she was seeing correctly. Then, she took out her mobile phone, pulled up a calculator and began typing the number of galleons, multiplying it by five to comprehend just how rich she was in muggle terms. When she made sure she typed in the correct number of galleons, she hit ‘=’ button and stared, gobsmacked, at the result.

Voldemort caught a glimpse of the number. It was a ten-cipher number. Aya promptly fainted into his arms and her poor phone landed on the floor.

He pulled her into his lap, cradled her close, picked up her phone, slipped it inside her bag, and looked at her Inheritance Test results.

…

**Inheritance Test for: Aya Potter-Snape-Black**

**Titles:**

Aya Potter-Snape-Black is

  * Lady Gryffindor,
  * Lady Potter,
  * Heiress Peverell,
  * Heiress Prince and
  * Heiress Black.



**Properties:**

Aya Potter-Snape-Black owns the following magical properties:

  * ¼ of Hogwarts (Gryffindor’s personal chambers included) and
  * Potter Manor and Estate.



Aya Potter-Snape-Black is eligible to inherit the following magical properties:

  * Peverell Manor and Estate (if the current Lord Peverell passes away without heirs),
  * Prince Manor and Estate (if the current Lord Prince passes away without biological heirs) and
  * 12 Grimmauld Place (if the current Lord Black passes away without biological heirs).



**Vaults:**

Aya Potter-Snape-Black has access to the following vaults at Gringotts, London:

  * #11: 192,000,000 galleons 236,564 sickles 100 knuts (once she turns 17)
  * #199: 128,000,000 galleons 203,366 sickles 26 knuts (once she turns 17)
  * #687: 69 sickles 96 knuts (will stop existing on 31 July 2017 and will automatically merge with the vault #199)



As of 2 August 2016, 16:58, the total sum is 320,000,000 galleons 439,999 sickles and 222 knuts.

…

He returned his attention to her. He didn’t dare use Enervate for fear of causing harm to the baby, so he simply asked for a bit of alcohol or anything with a pungent smell.

When Griphook offered his sweaty, three-day-old sock with a wicked grin, Voldemort almost choked on his saliva. He was sure Aya wouldn’t appreciate waking up with a smelly sock in front of her face. Instead, he asked for a glass of water.

With a snap of goblin’s fingers, a glass of water appeared on the table. Voldemort submerged his fingers in the liquid and then let drops of water drip onto Aya’s face. She slowly opened her eyes, looking around the office in disorientation until her gaze settled on him.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased with a devilish smirk.

“Voldemort,” she breathed, wide-eyed.

He caressed her cheek. “ _What is it?_ ” he said gently in parseltongue.

“I’m rich.”

“I know,” he chuckled, “because I am too.”

“No, you don’t understand, Voldemort. I’m rich, like rich-rich, filthy rich,” she kept saying in disbelief, her eyes lost in the distance. She looked at him again. “What am I going to do with all that money?”

“Well, now we can easily afford our own off-grid electricity, without having to steal anything.”

“Yeah, but still … that’s a lot of money.”

“First you’re complaining about being broke, and now that you’ve hit the proverbial Jackpot you’re complaining that it’s too much money. Pick one to complain about, you can’t have both.”

“I’m not used to seeing that much money at once and knowing it’s all mine … for whatever reason.” She turned to Griphook who was patiently waiting for them to get out of their bubble. “How exactly am I related to a founder of Hogwarts?” she wondered. “And how is there so much money in those vaults?”

“If you’re interested in your genealogy, then, you will have to take the Ancestry Test. Each test costs ten galleons, would you like to take them?”

“Should we take it?” she turned to Voldemort.

“Only if you take your cut out of my Slytherin vault,” he said to the goblin.

He grinned wickedly, swivelled to the drawer labelled ‘AT’, took out two pieces of parchment, and placed them in front of them. “The procedure is the same,” he informed them with a smirk.

They repeated the process and waited for their genealogical tree to become visible.

Apparently, Aya and he were very distantly related, their oldest common ancestors being the brothers Peverell. His wizarding side of the family were descendants of the middle brother, Cadmus, which would explain why he was Lord Peverell, given that the eldest Peverell brother died without descendants, and Aya’s paternal side of the family were descendants of the youngest Peverell brother, Ignotus.

“Okay, now that I know how I’m related to everyone in the wizarding community,” said Aya, “how can there possibly be so much money in the vaults?”

“Gringotts has a system in which, when a side branch of the family dies out, their belongings end up merging with the main branch vault. Moreover, your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, was quite the entrepreneur and he earned millions with his Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.”

Aya’s mouth formed into an ‘O’ and she nodded in understanding, but, in reality, she still had no real idea as to how main and side branches of wizarding families worked, but right now, her brain was too tired to comprehend and compute anything remotely complicated.

She cleared her throat. “Now,” she started, “about the warding. We would like to request a warding team as soon as possible, maybe the same one that warded 12 Grimmauld Place?”

“After they have sworn not to reveal the fact that I’m back and where we’re residing,” added Voldemort.

“We can arrange all that by Friday, August 5th,” he informed them. "Would ten o’clock in the morning be alright with you?”

They exchanged looks. “Yes,” they said in unison. The goblin wrote down the date of the appointment as well as a reminder for the Curse Breakers to undertake an unbreakable secrecy oath about Voldemort’s return and his residence address.

“Anything else?” inquired Griphook.

“There’s one more thing,” said Voldemort. “A while back, I gave one of my followers, Bellatrix Lestrange, something to guard and I was wondering if I could retrieve it.”

Could the important thing in the vault be the last Voldemort’s horcrux? The elusive Cup? She would have to ask him when they were alone and in private.

“Without Mrs. Lestrange’s written permission, you cannot access her vault, even to retrieve something that is yours, for the simple fact that you do not have access to the location,” explained Griphook.

“I see,” murmured Voldemort thoughtfully. “No matter,” he smiled politely. He stood up and Aya stood up with him. “Thank you, Griphook, for your assistance, you have been a great help.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

“May your gold multiply,” greeted Voldemort.

Griphook inclined his head respectfully. “And may your enemies tremble before you.”

…

It was 17:15, when they left Gringotts.

They walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, but as they approached the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Voldemort said, “Would you like to have a look around Knockturn Alley?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

As they began walking down the gloomy alley, Voldemort held her close again. As they approached ‘Borgin & Burkes’, Voldemort leaned closer to her and whispered. “This is where I worked as a shop assistant for a couple of years after I graduated Hogwarts.”

“Really?” she questioned with sparkly eyes and an open-mouthed grin. He nodded. “Let’s go inside,” she immediately began to move towards it, but Voldemort’s hand on her hips stopped her.

“Not with you pregnant,” he said, sternly.

“Aw,” she whined, “but I want to see your former workplace.”

“No,” he remained firm. “It’s too much of a hazard. I’m not risking it.”

She pouted. “Fine,” she sighed in resignation.

They continued their walk, looking for a place to eat. They found it a couple of minutes later. It was a place called ‘Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’. Despite the eye-catching name, the restaurant itself was rather plain looking, but apparently, the food was good and cheap. When she asked him how he knew that, he shrugged and said, “This is where I came to eat my lunch when I worked as a shop assistant.”

Suddenly, to Aya, it didn’t look plain at all.

They sat at a table in a corner.

After leafing through the menu and the prices, Aya agreed that the place was cheap for a filling full-course meal with appetiser, main dish and dessert. She still couldn’t say much on the quality, but she trusted Voldemort’s judgement.

After a lot of thought, and encouragement from Voldemort to pick whatever she wanted, she decided to order a creamy mushroom soup, roast chicken with lemon and herb roast potatoes and peas, a salad and a slice of fruit tart accompanied by some orange juice. In turn, Voldemort ordered creamy broccoli soup, spaghetti with meat sauce and a slice of key lime pie accompanied by some orange juice as well.

While they waited for their orders and drinks to arrive, Aya discreetly asked him about the horcrux.

“Is what you gave to Bellatrix for safekeeping one of them?” She caressed her engagement ring.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Aya hummed; an impassive expression on her face. “I see.” She pursed her lips in displeasure.

Voldemort noticed her sudden bad mood. He didn’t understand what exactly bothered her. He reached out and covered her hand with his. “What is it?” he asked, rubbing gentle circles on the back of her hand.

She glanced at their hands. “What is Bellatrix to you?” she asked in a cool tone.

“A very loyal and competent Death Eater,” answered Voldemort, more than slightly confused.

She looked at him. “Just that?”

“Yes,” he said confidently.

“Not a former lover or anything of the sort?”

Voldemort’s eyes widened. Was Aya … “Are you … jealous?” he asked in disbelief.

Aya clenched her hand and jaw tightly and furrowed her brow, while her agitated breath flared her nostrils every time she inhaled and exhaled. “Yes,” she gritted through her teeth. “Yes, I’m jealous, okay!” She locked eyes with his. “I can’t stand the idea of Bellatrix or anyone else being intimate with you before me.” Her hand shook in suppressed rage. “The mere thought of you kissing or touching someone like you touch me makes my insides rot.”

There was so much venom in her voice and eyes it took Voldemort by surprise.

“Tell me, how many people I have to hunt down and rip apart for sharing your bed?”

He smirked mischievously and brought her hands to his lips. He kissed them, before saying, “None.”

She blinked, frowning in confusion. He decided to elaborate. “While I’m flattered you would kill any of my former lovers to assert your dominance and place as my woman, there is absolutely no one for you to dismember, disfigure or otherwise kill or torture, because there has never been anyone else but you, Aya.”

She was speechless. Her frown disappeared and her eyes widened. “What?” she breathed.

Voldemort continued smirking, while playing with her fingers. “I’m saying,” he said, leaning forward, “that, before I had sex with you, I was a virgin just like you.”

She blinked a few times, processing Voldemort’s words. The arrival of their appetizers and drinks interrupted the moment, although Aya continued to stare, wide-eyed, at Voldemort.

“Really?” she asked when they were alone again; her eyes and voice full of hope and wonder. “I’m really the first and only one you’ve been with?”

“That’s affirmative.”

Aya’s eyes sparkled and a wide smile illuminated her face, making it look like sunshine rays, gold fairy dust and rainbow were around her. He could tell she wanted to vault over the table, jump into his lap, and smother him in hugs and kisses, but she refrained. After all, even if the establishment wasn’t crowded, they were still in a public space.

He chuckled. Again, he took her hands in his, only that this time; she held on as well and lightly squeezed his hands, before placing a kiss on his fingers as well.

…

The food turned out to be delicious, just as Voldemort had assured her.

As they ate, they talked about different topics. She wanted to know more about his former working experience as a shop assistant.

“I hated it,” he grumbled.

“What exactly did you hate about it?”

“Dealing with people, especially customers who were ogling me and weren’t even subtle about it,” he muttered grimly, clenching his hand. Aya frowned. She didn’t like the idea of people, men or women, lusting after her husband.

“Did they ever …?” she trailed off, but since Voldemort was a virgin in all senses of the word before her, she realized it was a stupid question, however, Voldemort caught onto what she was asking and replied nonetheless.

“They didn’t,” he assured her, “but not because they didn’t try. A few propositioned to pay me, set me up somewhere to act as their fuck boy, married and single men and women alike, and I declined every single one of them, absolutely disgusted. I would never lower myself to that level. Some desisted after I rejected their advances and offers, but some weren’t as ‘mature’ and they went as far as to stalk me and even tried to force themselves on me.”

When he saw dread and worry on Aya’s face, he quickly continued, “Don’t worry, they were barely able to touch me and since they chose to follow and attack me in a deserted alley, I simply showed them why it was a bad idea not to leave me be.” There was a wicked smirk and a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes.

“I hope you made them suffer,” she said, mirroring his bloodthirstiness.

“Since those who tried to use violence were mostly men I broke their wands, castrated them, cut off their tongues, severed their hands and sewed their mouths together, after putting them through several long rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, Blood-Boiling Curse and Bone-Crushing Curse.”

“Good,” she nodded. “But if you constantly had to deal with perverted people, why did you still work as a shop assistant at a shady shop?”

“To gain experience,” he said. “After I graduated from Hogwarts, I immediately wanted to apply for the DADA teaching position there, but Headmaster Armando Dippet, influenced by Albus Dumbledore, who was Hogwarts Deputy Headmaster and Professor of Transfiguration at the time, rejected my application, saying I was too young and inexperienced.”

There was bitterness in his voice and she reached across the table with her free hand and gave a comforting squeeze. He visibly relaxed.

“So, I decided to surround myself with Dark Magic, Dark Arts, and Dark Artefacts. By that point, I already had the diary and the ring and I knew the diadem was somewhere in Albania, but I lacked money to travel all the way there so I took up the job offer at ‘Borgin & Burkes’. As soon as I had enough money to get out of Britain and I had secured the locket and the cup from another perverted old hag, Hephzibah Smith, I resigned and left the country for a decade, travelling and exploring the world and delving deeper into the Dark Arts. If you want,” he added as a side note, “I could take you to places I visited. When you’ll be able to travel by apparition or floo again and when things won’t be as precarious as they are now, of course.”

Aya’s face lit up with excitement. She was all for travelling with Voldemort to other countries. “Of course I would like travelling with you,” she said vehemently. “And when our children are big enough to travel, we’ll take them to see places as well.”

He chuckled. “It might take years for all of our children to be old enough to travel by apparition.”

“True,” agreed Aya. “Especially if we have them back to back.” Her face acquired a pensive look. “Speaking of children, how many would you like to have?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I never really thought about that until now, and even with this one, I’m not sure how well I’ll do, so, before I start thinking about next one, I want to see how I fare with only one.”

She giggled. “Okay. So, we’ll take a break after this one and then after a year or two try for another, if you feel competent enough as a father?”

“Something like that, yes,” he agreed with a subdued smile. “Anyway, after a decade abroad and with five safeguards, I returned to Britain, ready to apply for the DADA post once again. Only to have my application rejected, yet again, this time by Dumbledore, who had become Headmaster of Hogwarts. I was so angry,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “How dare he reject me, who had achieved what no one else before me had managed to achieve and by thirty?”

She smiled sadly. “So that’s why you decided to curse the DADA position?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “in my fury, I cursed it, because if I couldn’t teach, then no one else should be allowed that position … at least not permanently, until Remus Lupin, apparently,” he finished in a grumble.

The waiter interrupted their conversation to bring them their main dishes and to take away the empty soup plates.

Aya took a moment to take in the smell and the appetising appearance of her dish, before digging in. After a few bites, they resumed their conversation.

“And why did you want to be a teacher?” wondered Aya.

“Mainly to recruit followers,” he replied. “I already had connections with some of the families from my Hogwarts years, but they weren’t many and if I wanted to start a chain of changes, radical changes, then I needed all the support I could get, either political or numeral should it come to armed altercation, which it did.”

“And now? Do you still want to be a teacher?”

He paused, thinking. “No,” he admitted honestly. “And now, in hindsight, I think that was the best.”

She waited for him to elaborate on that.

“Because while losing my good looks by making so many safeguards was a blessing in a way, I also put my sanity at risk,” he confessed. “I was constantly angry; the smallest thing would set me off into a rage. The only way to channel my anger was by torturing and killing others and even that only helped for a while, until I was in another fit of rage, aching to torture and kill some more. I was unable to think clearly and rationally. I was paranoid, seeing threats where there were none. I only thought about and craved power, yet I’m not sure I would have been satisfied for long if I had succeeded to win back then, because it was never enough. Even after mastering so many difficult branches of magic, I was never powerful enough. It was _never_ enough.”

“And now?” she asked gently. “Are you better now?”

He let out a sigh. “Yes, thanks to you.”

Aya blinked. “Me?”

“It’s true that I blamed you for what happened on the night I lost my body, and I spent another decade feeling angry, vengeful, plotting your death, but whenever I saw you or was in the same room as you, my mind felt clearer for some reason and I wasn’t as angry all the time.”

Her eyes watered a bit and she smiled brightly at him.

“Things only improved when I got my rudimentary body and now this body too.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re better now and if you want I can show you how to meditate and do yoga. They work wonders, anyone who has tried it so far that I know has benefitted from them so I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

He chuckled. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

When their desserts came, Aya couldn’t help herself and bartered a bite of Voldemort’s key lime pie for a bite from her fruit tart.

As they ate their desserts, they talked about food: what they liked, what they didn’t like, what they haven’t tried yet and Aya made mental notes about Voldemort’s list of favourite and least favourite food to make sure she didn’t accidentally prepare something he didn’t like.

…

They were back at their rented carriage by 18:20.

As the carriage began moving, Aya was comfortably tucked under Voldemort’s arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder. His masculine scent, the gentle lull of the carriage, exhaustion and her full stomach made her sleepy.

“Voldemort,” she mumbled.

“Hm?”

“Now that my stomach is full, I feel super sleepy.” She yawned. “I think I’ll take a nap.” She peeked at him. “Will you wake me when we get home? To the mansion, I mean, because I’m already home,” she sighed contently and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“How so?” he inquired, amused.

“The mansion is our house, but you …” she said, “You are my home. Your arms are my home,” she declared with conviction and Voldemort felt a bubble of absolute joy burst inside his chest at those words.

His hold on her tightened and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling and revelling in her feminine scent. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered, “Sleep, I’ll wake you up when we arrive.”

Not long after, she was snoring lightly and soon after, he fell asleep as well, his head resting on top of hers.

…

As the carriage came to a halt, Voldemort jerked awake. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to chase away the drowsiness. Once he was awake enough, he glanced down at Aya, who was still asleep, her mouth slightly open and leaving a damp spot on his robes with her saliva. A fond smile spread across his face as he fell for Aya all over again.

He sighed. He really must be too far gone in his affection for Aya, if he found her literal drooling all over him charming and sexy.

“Aya,” he whispered hoarsely. No response or reaction. “Aya,” he tried again. Still nothing.

He began scratching her head. “Come on, Aya, wake up, we’re home.”

She let out a raspy groan and readjusted herself on his shoulder, but didn’t make any indication of waking up.

“You’ll be able to continue sleeping in our bed, but for now I need you to wake up.”

“No,” she protested weakly, “don’t want to. Too comfortable.” And to illustrate her words, she hugged his torso.

He let out a sigh, while an amused smile danced on his lips. “You’ll be even more comfortable in bed. Come on, wake up,” he insisted with his lips pressed to her hair.

She frowned and begrudgingly straightened herself. She rubbed her eyes and her drooling mouth and yawned long and wide, while she stretched across the entire carriage.

He helped her out of the carriage and paid the coachman.

After the carriage left, Aya stretched her arms toward him. “Carry me,” she said hoarsely, her eyes only half open. He complied and lifted her up. She smiled dreamily and kissed him.

As they crossed the threshold and passed the drawing room, a sarcastic male voice greeted them. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up after spending an entire day frolicking about doing Merlin knows what.”

Any sleepiness evaporated instantaneously from Aya’s body as she gasped and turned towards the source of that voice.

“Siri!” she exclaimed when she saw Sirius wearing a fake and exaggerated smile, sitting on the sofa of Voldemort’s living room, playing cards with three other people Severus, Barty, and Narcissa.


	2. Card Games, Surprise & a Question of Mortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Severus visit their daughter, Sirius has a 'talk' with his son-in-law while playing Rummy, Narcissa checks up on Aya and her pregnancy, and the horcruxes speak with their creator about Aya's mortality.

_Several hours earlier_

After a few rounds of gloriously gory violence of Mortal Kombat through amazing X-rays, brutalities and fatalities and eating lunch, Severus and Sirius apparated near the Graveyard in Little Hangleton.

Sirius glared at the gravestones as if they had offended him gravely.

“Sirius, what’s wrong?” inquired Severus, when he noticed his lover’s bothered look.

“That’s where Aya helped Voldemort get his body back,” he said grimly.

Severus simply let out a sigh, took his lover’s hand in his, and guided him towards the mansion.

“And this is the place where they had sex,” commented Sirius grimly, glaring at the front door.

As they waited for the front door to open, Severus was trying to remind Sirius not to lose his cool, when he saw how tense he was.

“Remember, try to keep things as civil as possible,” he whispered to him. “Aya won’t appreciate hostility or violence towards Voldemort.”

“I know,” huffed Sirius, “but it’s easier said than done.”

“If you’re struggling, just remember all the different breathing techniques Aya showed you,” Severus reminded him. “Breathing is crucial, don’t forget that.”

Sirius took several deep breaths. The door opened a moment later to reveal Barty’s face.

“Severus,” he greeted him with a slight inclination of the head. “Black,” he repeated the greeting with Sirius as well.

“Barty,” returned Severus in a similar fashion.

“If you’re looking for Aya and the Dark Lord, I’m afraid they went somewhere approximately half an hour ago.”

“What? They are not here?” exclaimed Sirius, panic rising in his chest.

“Do you know where they went or when they will come back?” inquired Severus.

Barty winced apologetically. “No, they didn’t say where they were going nor did they mention when they would be returning.”

Sirius turned to Severus, dismayed. “Severus,” he breathed, “what if they went on a date to a fancy ass restaurant or went to some fancy ass hotel to have more sex?”

“If they did, we just have to accept it as a new reality,” Severus tried to reason with his lover.

“Yeah, but … what if that wasn’t enough for them and they also decided to go to Gretna Green?” insisted Sirius, alarmed.

“Gretna Green?” repeated Severus, confused.

“You know, the muggle place where couples go to get married if the relatives oppose the union,” explained Sirius. “It’s usually featured in muggle historical romance novels.”

“You read romance novels?” asked Severus, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Yeah, I do,” said Sirius defensively. “When I’m in the mood for it and to keep myself distracted when you’re at Hogwarts, teaching.”

“Well, I don’t think Aya would go through with a wedding without us present,” said Severus carefully.

“I don’t know, Severus,” he said sceptically, “after she pulled off that stunt with Voldemort behind our backs, I wouldn’t put it past her to get married without telling us. Especially if she feels like doing it in the spur of the moment. The only reason I see her not going through with a secret wedding is because she feels bad for keeping her relationship with Voldemort a secret.”

“You might be right,” agreed Severus. After all, his lover’s reasoning was plausible and probable. “But I don’t know if she can even legally do it by muggle laws.”

“Of course I’m right,” said Sirius confidently. “If she marries in secret, we’ll just demand another ceremony where we’ll be present as well. She’ll just have to marry twice,” he concluded matter-of-factly. He turned to Barty. “You said you don’t know when they’ll be coming back, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, are you just going to leave us standing here at the front door or are you going to invite us in for tea, coffee or some other shit?”

“Uh, please, come in.” Barty immediately opened the door a bit more and gestured them to enter.

They entered, with Sirius looking around appraisingly. Barty called for Winky and told her to prepare tea for three people. He led them to the living room. Sirius continued to inspect his surroundings.

“Not bad,” he said after a while, “but I think I’ll have a look at the rest of the manor while we wait for tea, before giving my final verdict.”

Barty looked alarmed. He was already awaiting his punishment for doing things behind his back and letting Sirius Black roam around the manor unsupervised and to his heart’s content was just adding to his own suffering the following morning. “Uh, Black, I’m not sure my Lord would appreciate that.”

“Excuse me?” Sirius arched an eyebrow, baffled. “Do I have to remind you we’re Aya’s parents and your Lord’s future parents-in-law? And as Aya’s father, I think I have the right to see where my daughter is going to live from now on with her husband and children, should they decide to have more than one.”

Severus groaned under his breath and covered his eyes with his hand. Sirius in his Father mode was both extremely fascinating as well as embarrassing. He didn’t want to imagine how he was going to be once he acquired Grandfather mode.

“Besides,” continued Sirius matter-of-factly, “it’s not like I’ll be snooping around his personal things. I just want to see how many bedrooms and bathrooms there are; maybe look at the kitchen, the dining room … that sort of thing. And who knows, Severus and I might need to spend the night or two, depending on when they return and we have a talk with Voldemort.”

“Fine,” agreed Barty, sighing in defeat, “but only if I accompany you.”

…

After a fifteen-minute tour of the manor, they returned to the drawing room downstairs and sat around the coffee table on the sofa.

“I like it,” proclaimed Sirius, satisfied with the place. “It’s big but not overwhelmingly so and with a few tweaks here and there in the colour scheme of the manor, it can even become more appealing and cosy. Oh, and they definitely need to get electricity, the Internet and technology.”

As they sat in awkward silence, drinking tea, Sirius had an idea. “Hey, Barty,” he said unexpectedly.

“Yes?”

“Do you know how to play cards?”

“You mean Exploding Snaps?” asked Barty, confused.

“No, though if you have a deck of Exploding Snaps cards with you we could play that too, but I was referring to muggle cards … Rummy, to be exact.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry, we’ll show you how to play and then we can play a few rounds,” said Sirius. “I assume you don’t have muggle playing cards, so, is there anything that we could transfigure into them?”

“I don’t know, maybe napkins?” suggested Barty.

“If there are fifty-two napkins in the kitchen, they can work just fine.”

“Winky,” called Barty. Winky popped almost instantly.

“Yes, Young Master?”

“Can you bring us fifty-two napkins, please?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded and bowed, before disappearing. It took her about a minute to return with an entire pile of paper napkins.

Sirius took out his wand and transfigured each napkin into a muggle playing card. Once they had the entire deck, he shuffled it, distributed seven cards to each, before placing the rest in the middle of the coffee table, and flipped the top card face-up to start the discard pile.

“Okay since you don’t know the rules yet, we are going to walk you through them as we go along, but you’ll see it’s not complicated,” said Sirius. ”I’ll start, Severus will follow me and then when it’s your turn I’m going to ask you if you have certain cards and tell you what you can do with them. Okay?”

Barty nodded.

“Now, the objective is to get rid of all the cards in your hands and the first who manages that is the winner. So, right off the bat, I’m going to take this five of clubs from the discard pile and make a run with my two, three and four of clubs.” He laid down the cards on the table. “I can do that because I have at least three cards of the same suit, so, clubs in my case, but it would work with diamonds, hearts and spades as well. And now, I have four cards remaining, I can’t do much else, so I pick a card from my hands to discard and throw it on the table where the discard pile is.”

He discarded the Queen of hearts.

“Now, Severus can either draw from the fresh pile or the discard pile, he can add to my run or he can start his own run or meld,” explained Sirius, while Severus drew a card from the fresh pile and looked at what he had.

“What’s the difference between a meld and a run?” asked Barty.

“A meld is a group of three or four cards of the same rank so, three or four aces, ones, twos, threes and so on and so forth. So, if I had three or four different cards of the same number or face, then I could make a meld with them. In a run, again, you need at least three cards to start it and they must belong to the same suit, so, spades, clubs, hearts and diamonds. If you have three or more cards like that, you can open a run, but be careful the numbers can’t skip, they have to increase or decrease by one, like my run.”

While Sirius talked, Severus opened his own meld with three kings and added to Sirius’ run with a six of clubs, before discarding two of hearts.

“Now, Barty, draw a card, either from the fresh pile or the discard pile, but only draw from it if the top card is going to help you with opening a meld or a run.”

He drew from the fresh pile.

“Okay, do you have anything that you can get rid of, either by adding to our runs and melds or do you have enough to open your own?”

Barty looked at the cards in his hand. “… Well, I have three eights.”

“Okay, lay them down on the table,” instructed Sirius. Barty did as told. “Anything else?”

He looked at his cards again and the cards on the table and shook his head. “No.”

“So, no king, ace of clubs or seven of clubs?”

Barty shook his head.

“Then, pick a card from your hand and discard it to end your turn.”

Their first game of rummy ended with Sirius’ win less than ten minutes later. A couple of hours and at least six rounds of rummy later; it was time for afternoon tea and biscuits.

…

After playing so many rounds of Rummy, they decided to try playing other card games, namely Hearts and Kings in the Corner.

When it was time for dinner and Aya and Voldemort had still not returned, Barty told Winky to serve three portions and save any leftovers for the following day. Shortly after they finished with the meal, there was a knock at the front door. Winky went to open it. It was Narcissa.

“Since you didn’t communicate a specific hour in the letter, I hope I arrived at an appropriate time,” she said politely.

“Yeah,” breathed Barty, scratching the back of his head, “about that. My Lord didn’t say when exactly you should come. He only said in the evening, after they returned.”

“They’re not at home?” asked Narcissa, slightly surprised. “Are they to return soon?”

“I’m afraid I also don’t have that information.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to wait. Could I use the fireplace to firecall my husband and let him know I might return later than anticipated?”

“Of course, this way.” He accompanied her to the living room and showed her where she could take some floo powder.

On the way, she greeted her cousin and Severus, surprised to see them there.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, cousin Sirius,” she said candidly.

“Neither did I, Cissy,” returned Sirius. “Any particular reason?”

“My Lord wants me to check on Aya, your daughter.”

Understanding dawned on Sirius. “Ah, you came to check how she and the baby are doing.”

Narcissa frowned a bit in confusion. “Baby? I wasn’t informed about any baby, only to check on your daughter.”

“Well, now you know,” said Sirius simply, “Aya is pregnant with Voldemort.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened.

“I know, right?” prompted Sirius when he saw her shock. “Hard to believe, but it’s true. Anyway, you said Voldemort wanted you to do the check up?”

“That is correct.”

“Well, at least he seems to think about her and the baby’s well-being,” muttered Sirius to himself.

“If you’ll excuse me, I wish to inform my husband about coming home at a later time than expected.”

She knelt in front of the fireplace with a handful of floo powder, pronounced the name of her home and stuck her head into the green flames. As expected, her darling husband was in his office as he said he would be. “Lucius, darling,” she called to draw his attention.

“Narcissa, dear, is something the matter?” he asked, concerned.

“Not at all, darling,” she said, smiling gently, “I simply wanted to let you know I don’t know when exactly I’ll return home, because our Lord is still not back from his errands, and since I’m already here, I might as well wait for him to come back and return once I have fulfilled my duties here.”

“Very well, dear. I’ll see you in bed then,” he said, smirking.

Narcissa grinned. “Don’t fall asleep or tire yourself,” she said suggestively.

He chuckled. “I won’t.” He winked.

As the call ended, she schooled her expression into an impassive mask, gracefully rose to her feet, dusted off her skirt, turned to the three men in the room and cleared her throat.

“Would you like something to drink?” offered Barty.

“Tea, please.”

She took a seat on the edge of the sofa, her hands folded graciously in her lap. The other three sat down as well.

“Did I interrupt something?” she questioned when she noticed what looked like cards, but didn’t look like Exploding Snaps, scattered all over the coffee table.

“Well, we were in the middle of Kings in the Corners,” explained Sirius.

“Kings in the Corner?” she repeated incredulously. “I don’t recall a game with that name. Then again, I’m not really knowledgeable when it comes to card games.”

“That’s probably because it’s a muggle card game,” told her Sirius.

She looked flabbergasted. “A muggle game?” she repeated, scrunching up her nose.

“It’s not that bad, Cissy,” Sirius assured her. “Try playing Rummy at least. Who knows, maybe you’ll find it to your liking.”

She huffed, smoothing her hair. “I suppose it’s better than Exploding Snaps,” she allowed. “Since muggle cards don’t appear explosive in any way, at least I won’t have to worry about singed hair, face or clothes, but you would still need to explain the rules to me.”

“Not to worry, Cissy. Rummy is not hard to understand and it’s perfectly safe to play.”

…

At around twenty minutes to ten in the evening, they heard something outside the manor. Leaving their cards on the table, face-down, they went to the window and peered outside.

“That’s the carriage they went in,” commented Barty in a whisper.

Sirius pressed his face to the glass, trying to see in the dark. However, nothing was happening. The carriage just stood there, waiting.

“If that’s the carriage, where are they? Why have they still not come out?” he wondered. Only to gasp alarmed the following moment as an idea crossed his mind. “What if they were having sex in the carriage and are now trying to make themselves presentable?”

Severus let out a heavy sigh. Of course, Sirius’ first thought would be Aya and Voldemort having sex, or making out.

“Whether they were having sex or making out and are trying to get dressed, you are going to stay put and wait for them to enter,” he said.

Not long after, the carriage door opened and they saw Voldemort hopping down and then holding and offering a hand to Aya. After they saw him pay the coachman and lift Aya in his arms, they hurried to their seats and pretended to play, with Sirius already formulating how exactly he was going to greet them to get their attention.

When they came into view, unaware of their presence, he decided it was the best time to startle them. He cleared his throat importantly, then used his sarcastic voice and a fake smile and said, “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up after spending an entire day frolicking about doing Merlin knows what.”

Aya gasped and she immediately whipped her head into his direction, exclaiming his nickname in surprise, taking in the scene before her. Voldemort turned to them as well; his expression not exactly showing what went through his head, however, he did readjust his grip on Aya and kept holding her close, refusing to let her go even when his parents-in-law were in the same room.

Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he really didn’t like seeing them all lovey-dovey in front of him, after all, he still needed some time to get used to this kind of scenario occurring before his eyes, yet at the same time, he would have probably been pissed if he wasn’t holding and treating her like a princess.

“Well?” he prompted, looking from one to the other. “Are you going to tell us where you’ve been or are you just going to stand there like a statue?”

At least she had the decency to look flustered. She exchanged brief, questioning looks with Voldemort as if asking if it was all right to tell them where they were.

“Uh … we were in London,” she elaborated clumsily.

“London,” repeated Sirius sarcastically. “I was certain you were going to elope to Gretna Green to get married behind our backs.” She hid her face in Voldemort’s neck and he brought her closer to his chest.

“I don’t know about Gretna Green,” began Voldemort, “but we did go to Gringotts to inquire about marriage.”

“And?” insisted Sirius.

“We didn’t get married,” informed him Voldemort with an impassive expression and Sirius felt a huge rock fall off his chest. “For that we need your permission since Aya is underage.”

“Damn right you need our permission to get married,” he exclaimed sternly. “Aya may be old enough to give consent to have sex, but she’s still not an adult … at least legally.”

“And?” prompted Voldemort. “Do we have your permission to get married?”

“Of course you have it,” he said fervently. “I’ll be damned if I let my grandchild be born out of wedlock, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Not that I expected you to,” retorted Voldemort, unfazed.

There was a stretch of heavy silence, with Sirius getting increasingly snappy and irritated by simply seeing Voldemort stand at the living room’s doorway with Aya in hands.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, sit down, don’t just stand there. It’s irritating,” snapped Sirius at them.

Voldemort’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but he carried Aya to the sofa and sat down next to Barty with her in his lap, refusing to relinquish his hold on her.

“Better?” He sent a strained smile his future father-in-law’s way.

“I would have preferred it if Aya wasn’t sitting in your lap, but otherwise, much better,” Sirius smiled in the same fashion at Voldemort.

“I’m afraid my wife is staying in my lap, _father_ ,” he sneered at him. “It’s where she belongs.” To emphasise his words, he smirked, hugged Aya to him even more tightly and looked Sirius directly into the eyes as if daring him to try taking her away from him.

A vein popped out on Sirius’ forehead at the shameless display of possessiveness and being called ‘father’ by none other than Lord Voldemort. ‘That motherfucker,’ he thought, maintaining his fake smile in place. ‘He’s doing it on purpose. Ooph, how I want to punch him right now.’ But, if that’s how he wanted to play, he would indulge him.

“You mean _future_ wife, because you’re still not married, _son_.” He felt elated seeing Voldemort’s smirk fall away and suppress a shudder at being called ‘son’.

Aya looked fearfully between her husband and her father. That didn’t bode well. She looked at her father Severus and Barty with a desperate look, asking them to do something before things got out of hand.

Barty (bless his soul) cleared his throat and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Oh, yes, a cup of mint tea would be wonderful,” said Aya enthusiastically.

“You, my Lord?”

Voldemort frowned and grumbled, “Same as Aya.”

While Barty ordered two cups of mint tea, Severus intervened with a question. “Speaking of marriage, have you thought about when you want to get married?”

“The wedding better be by the end of this year,” interjected Sirius sourly.

“We want to get married on the twenty-first of December,” Voldemort informed them.

“Twenty-first of December?” repeated Sirius incredulously. “Why the hell the twenty-first of December? What’s wrong with the twenty-first of August?”

“Nothing,” retorted Voldemort, “but I wanted it to be on the first day of Yule, because it is symbolic,” he explained.

“Ah,” breathed Sirius in understanding, a smirk on his lips. “You want it to happen on a special date. Who would have thought Dark Lord Voldemort was such a romantic?” he teased.

Voldemort didn’t appreciate it, judging by his frown. “Siri …” Aya called to her father warningly. “Stop it. Don’t tease my husband.”

Winky interrupted the tension with her arrival. She placed the tea on the table and served it.

Sirius let out a sigh. “All jokes and teasing aside,” he began gravely, “I want to thank you for delivering Pettigrew to the authorities, so that I could prove my innocence. I know you didn’t do it for me, but if it wasn’t for your intervention, I probably wouldn’t be a free man and a father to Aya.”

Voldemort nodded stiffly. “You’re welcome.”

“Still,” continued Sirius, “I think about the fact you started a secret correspondence with Aya in her fourth year, that at some point you started flirting with her, that you kidnapped her a year later, used her to get your body back, had sex with her and knocked her up at sixteen and never once came to either me or Severus to ask for her hand in marriage and I get so pissed I get this urge to punch you in the face.” His hands were shaking as he tried to control and stop the desire to punch Voldemort.

Aya immediately hugged Voldemort’s face in a protective gesture.

“And mind you, this is not even counting the fact you also have Severus and I, together with a bunch of other people, under a memory charm to cover up your stunt with Aya at the graveyard. At least you had the decency to deflower her in a comfortable bed and not on a gravestone,” he added.

Narcissa covered her mouth and cleared her throat. Why was her cousin so uncouth?

“But, since my daughter here,” he continued, gesturing at her, “doesn’t let me punch you; I want to ask you if I can punch you.”

“No!” immediately exclaimed Aya. “You’re not punching him!”

He turned to her. “You, shush,” he said sternly, pointing a finger at her, “I asked him, not you. So, you, be quiet.”

Aya gasped melodramatically, but Sirius had his eyes on Voldemort again. “So? What do you say? Can I punch you?”

“No,” deadpanned Voldemort.

“Just once,” insisted Sirius.

“No.”

“Dammit,” he cursed. “Well, it was worth a try.” He sighed. “Fancy a game of Rummy?” he offered light-heartedly.

“I don’t know the rules,” admitted Voldemort.

“Don’t worry, darling,” assured him Aya, “You’ll learn as we go and since we’re going to play as a team, we’re going to be unstoppable,” she grinned, hugging his neck.

“Alright,” agreed Voldemort, “I’ll play.”

As Sirius was shuffling the cards, Aya and Voldemort took a sip from their teacups. Once the deck was sufficiently shuffled, Sirius began distributing them. When each of the players had seven cards, he placed the remaining ones in the middle, pulling the topmost card and turning her face-up to start the discard pile.

Sirius opened the game, followed by Severus, Barty, Aya and Voldemort, and finally Narcissa. When everyone got their first turn, Sirius spoke again.

“Now that it’s official you two are together and you are back, I suppose you will continue where you left off before your disappearance,” he said in a casual tone.

“If you mean the war, not really, but if you mean becoming the leader of magical Britain and making changes in society and laws, then the answer is yes,” replied Voldemort.

“So … you don’t intend to fight openly?”

“No.”

“Good,” he nodded in approval. “I don’t want my daughter involved in a war, but if you don’t want to start another war, how exactly do you intend to overthrow Fudge and Dumbledore without meeting opposition? And what kind of changes are you going to implement once you take over?”

“In the past couple of years, I have successfully managed to break out my imprisoned followers from Azkaban through the means of Polyjuice, then, managed to infiltrate them in different departments at the Ministry, the Wizengamot, Azkaban, St. Mungo’s and, very soon, Hogwarts too.”

Sirius whistled, impressed. “You’ve been busy.”

“I try not to be idle,” shrugged Voldemort. “As for the changes, as of this school year, there will be changes implemented in the curriculum of History of Magic to make it more modern, up-to-date and interesting, but presenting historical facts through different angles. Let students decide who was right and who was wrong in magical conflicts over the centuries, based on their own moral values. However, any other in-depth changes to the magical education in Britain, I will discuss them with my wife.” He looked at her and ran his fingers through her hair affectionately. “After all, she is going to rule beside me as an equal, so it is only fair that she gets a say in the changes as well.”

Aya snuggled closer with a beaming smile. Sirius rolled his eyes and grimaced at the display of affection between the two, but soon remembered the envelope that arrived in the morning for Aya.

“Speaking of education, here you go, pup.” He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the folded documents and handed them to her over the table. “This came for you today in the morning. Good job on your O.W.L.s, pup,” he said when she unfolded the paper and looked at the O.W.L. results.

She excitedly showed them to Voldemort. He chuckled good-naturedly and congratulated her by gently scratching her scalp, but made a comment about getting all Os himself. She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, sorry for not being a genius like you. Besides, History of Magic and Astronomy are not my favourites anyway,” she said haughtily, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Sirius cleared his throat to draw their attention. “As for your remaining education,” he began seriously, “I suppose you won’t be going back to Hogwarts without risking Dumbledore finding out about the paternity of your child.”

“I thought that was obvious, papa,” said Aya. “Besides, I already told you that I’m going to complete my education either through private tutors or self-study.”

“I know, but what excuse are we going to give to Dumbledore when we send a letter to him saying you won’t be attending Hogwarts anymore? If the excuse is not convincing enough, he might get suspicious.”

He had a point.

“Well, what about a disease that requires me to stay at home and rest, otherwise it might get worse,” she suggested.

“And you think he’s just going to buy it?” said Sirius sceptically. “When you’ve barely been ill since you started attending Hogwarts and now, conveniently, you get something out of nowhere. The least he’ll do is check your medical files for official documentation.”

“Well, I have several spies in St. Mungo’s who are certified healers,” interrupted Voldemort. “If we ask one of them to fake a medical report, they’ll do it.”

“What if he tries to have one of his double check Aya?” insisted Sirius. “Just to get a ‘second opinion’?”

“We’ll just have to ensure the ‘second opinion’ comes from one of ours. It’s not like Dumbledore knows I have healers who are on my side. And if he insists, well … we can always Imperio them into complying with our demands or pose as them by polyjuicing our own and then modify their memories.”

Sirius gaped at him, rendered speechless.

“Don’t give me that look. Drastic situations demand drastic actions. It’s not as if I would be putting them under Imperius for other nefarious reasons.”

“I still don’t like it, but if there’s no other way, then, so be it.” He sighed. “My daughter and grandchild’s safety comes first.”

“On that we can agree.”

They returned their attention to the game of Rummy, where Sirius and Narcissa both had four cards remaining, while Severus, Barty, and Aya and Voldemort all had three cards left to discard.

“And how long do you think it will take you to take over?” inquired Sirius, lowering his number of cards from four to three.

Voldemort shrugged. “A year … two at most. I’m still in the process of deciding the exact changes and since there is a lot in our society that needs to be changed, well, I want to be prepared for when I present my proposals and arguments for the changes I intend to implement. I need people to see I know what I’m talking about, that I am prepared and that I have a reasonable and beneficial vision for wizardkind. However, you are more than welcome to come up with a few proposals yourself and we can discuss them over a cup of tea in my office if you’d like.”

Voldemort’s offer took him by surprise, but oddly enough, he didn’t hate it. In fact, he liked it … a lot. “You know what? I think I’ll take you up on that,” he said, eyeing him shrewdly. “Since Severus and I will probably become regular visitors here at the manor, we might as well talk some politics.”

Narcissa cleared her throat. “I do not wish to be rude, my Lord, but I would like to check on Miss Aya as soon as possible so that I can return home afterwards.”

“Of course, Narcissa. You will check on Aya as soon as we finish the game,” he said, knowing he and Aya were just two cards away from winning.

…

When they won two rounds later, they made room for Aya to lie down on the sofa, so Narcissa could finally see if everything was okay with the baby.

As she cast the appropriate spell, a projection appeared above Aya’s abdomen showing the inside of her womb. All men (minus Severus, who had some basic healer knowledge) plus Aya stared at the projection in confusion.

“I do not mean to pry, but when and how many times did you have relations?” Narcissa asked Aya, sounding as clinical as possible.

Sirius tensed at the question and Aya exchanged looks with Voldemort, who was kneeling beside her, holding her hand. “Well …” she began uncertainly, “it was one night … multiple times, on June 24th.”

Sirius’ eyes twitched and his head jerked violently to the side. “Pup,” he whispered. “I did not need to know you had sex with Voldemort multiple times in one night.”

She simply sighed, rolled her eyes and ignored him.

“So … you’re roughly entering your sixth week then,” she said after doing some quick math in her head. “By this time, you can already hear the baby’s heartbeat.” She looked from one to the other. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”

“Yes, please,” grinned Aya excitedly. Voldemort nodded as well. With another spell cast at her abdomen a cacophony of sounds reverberated through the sitting room.

Aya frowned. Was it supposed to sound so out of tune? She looked at Narcissa and found her with a similar expression. Until her eyes widened and she let out a gasp. “Oh, Merlin.”

“Is everything okay with the baby?” asked Voldemort.

“Well … to which one are you referring, my Lord? But as far as I can tell, the babies are fine,” returned Narcissa, dumbfounded. There were not one … not two, but _three_ babies. Two were sharing one amniotic sac and the third one was in its own.

Voldemort paled. Sirius was shocked as well. “Babies?” he whispered, swallowing hard. “As in … more than one?”

“Miss Aya is pregnant with triplets, my Lord.”

“Triplets?!” exclaimed Aya and Sirius at the same time. Voldemort just stared, transfixed, at Narcissa, white as a ghost.

“Cissy, look again, maybe you’re tired from playing Rummy and you’re seeing triple,” urged her Sirius.

She gave him a deadpan look. “I may be tired, but not _that_ tired. I know what I’m seeing, dear cousin, but if you don’t believe me, maybe Severus can look as well and tell you the same thing as me. There are three babies.”

An image flashed in front of Aya’s eyes: the giant locked door, surrounded by three bright, but small lights with a pulse. Her eyes lit with understanding. Of course! Those lights represent her babies! Still … three babies on the first try?!

She turned to her husband, half-incredulous half-horrified. “Voldemort, what did you do?”

He said nothing, just stared blankly in the distance while the word ‘triplets’ kept repeating itself in his mind like a broken record. His grip loosened, he swayed a bit and crumpled to the floor, because if learning he was going to be a father to one baby scared him, knowing he was going to have three kids all at once was enough to make him faint.

“Darling!” exclaimed Aya, worried.

Soon after, her father Sirius followed the lead of his son-in-law and promptly fainted next to him. Severus immediately assisted his lover and Barty took care of Voldemort.

Narcissa simply sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose and continued with the medical check. She wanted to be done, and go home to her husband.

…

“Triplets,” said Voldemort incredulously, staring at the ceiling of their bedroom with Aya snuggled close into his side, supporting her head on his shoulder, while he had an arm around her. “I can’t believe we’re having three babies at the same time.”

“I know,” she agreed, hugging his torso, “but with how much sex we had and magic being involved, we can be happy it stopped at three. Imagine if we had quadruplets, quintuplets, or sextuplets,” she said, horrified. Voldemort’s face reflected the same kind of emotion. “I’m already going to be ready to burst by the time I give birth to these three babies, I don’t know if my body would be able to handle more than that. Besides,” she sighed, looking at him, “I suppose I already knew I was pregnant with triplets on some subconscious level.”

He glanced down at her. “How so?”

“You know the night after we were together?” She began. He murmured affirmatively. “Well, that night, I was in my mental landscape with your horcruxes, feeling depressed because of your hurtful words.”

Seeing her dejected countenance, he immediately hugged her tighter and pressed a kiss to her hair. She snuggled into him and let him cuddle her.

“So, to cheer me up, Moriarty showed me this huge ass door at the limits of my consciousness locked with chains and padlocks surrounded by three small faint lights. In his words, the door appeared shortly before the earthquakes and fireworks began, which, if you haven’t guessed yet, apparently represent my out-of-this-world orgasms.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and he chuckled openly.

“I hope Moriarty gets used to earthquakes and fireworks, because I believe there will be an increase of those starting tomorrow morning,” he said in a low, seductive voice, eyeing her lips.

Now it was her turn to laugh. “I’m sure he will,” she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously and gently biting her lower lip.

She lifted herself up and pressed her lips to his, half-draped over him, gently caressing his chest and cheeks, while he tangled his clawed fingers into her hair, holding her close, exploring her mouth with his tongue, tasting her and eliciting soft moans.

When they separated after a few extra brief pecks, she readjusted herself into his side and cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she continued her narration, “when the fireworks stopped, those three faint lights remained. I think they represent our babies.”

“And the door?”

“According to what the book on bonds and rituals says about us having a soul bond in place, I’m guessing that the door represents our soul bond … and you were keeping me out. Correction, you’re still keeping me out. You won’t let me in. I tried to open it by force, but it didn’t work. Even when I knock nicely it won’t budge,” she sniffed melodramatically.

“I’ll look for a door in my consciousness and see if I can open it for you,” he assured her with a fond smile, scratching her scalp in slow, rhythmic motion. She sighed in contentment and melted into him like butter.

“Do you like it when I do this?” he asked quietly.

She was so far gone in her comfort that she was barely keeping her eyes open. “Aha,” she mumbled. “It makes me sleepy,” she slurred. “Together with your voice and smell.”

“Oh,” he said, quirking a hairless eyebrow, and fighting off a smirk, “so, my voice and scent put you to sleep? I thought they aroused you, attracted you. Your words from this morning,” he reminded her.

She giggled. “When I’m tired, super tired like right now, your voice and scent soothe me to sleep and when I’m not tired, then, your voice and scent make me all hot and bothered and wet and thirsty and hungry and I just want to jump your bones and have my way with you.”

He laughed freely, his laugh deep and rich, the rumble of his chest creating pleasant vibration that only added to her feeling of happiness and hominess. Yes, this was paradise. Here, in Voldemort’s arms, in his bed, correction, their bed, and his house, correction, their house, surrounded by his arms, his warmth, his scent and the rise and fall of his chest, she felt complete and at home. Soon her paradise would include their little babies, but until the time came, she was more than satisfied with the current arrangement.

“I really want to show you our babies,” she told him with a tired, but bright smile, “and my landscape. All the different regions, the scenery, the food. We could go on a tour with Moriarty as a guide, since he probably knows me better than even I know myself. And, then, I would really like to see your mental landscape and spend some time there … with you. Hugging, kissing, love-making.” An idea struck her. “Darling?”

“What is it?” he murmured, continuing his massage.

“Do you think it’s possible for us to have sex in our mental landscapes?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said sincerely, “but if you want, we’re going to find out.”

He pressed his lips to her hair again. Merlin, he couldn’t get enough of her or keep his hands away from her. He just wanted to keep touching her in some way. After spending a little over a month craving and imagining this bliss, he didn’t want to part with it. He had spent enough time fighting these feelings and urges for Aya for too long. Now, he simply wanted to indulge in her and his feelings for her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, mumbling, “but not tonight. Too tired. Maybe tomorrow … or the day after tomorrow.”

“We have time,” Voldemort assured her.

“Tom, Marvolo, Gaunt, Ramses,” she called to the horcruxes. “I know you’re listening, so, no pizzas, noodles, crackers, bunnies and chocolate Jacuzzis. Tomorrow … maybe, if I’m not too tired. Travelling is exhausting …” she trailed off into a light snore against Voldemort’s chest.

He was about to drift off as well, when a few minutes after Aya fell asleep, he heard someone calling him.

“Hey, Voldemort, wake up,” urged his own voice, only decades younger. He cracked open an eye and saw all four of his currently available horcruxes floating above and around him and Aya, their expressions grave. “We need to talk,” said his youngest self.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“It’s about Aya,” added Gaunt.

Voldemort instinctively readjusted his hold on her and any drowsiness left him. “What about her?”

They chuckled. “Don’t worry,” said Marvolo, “we’re not trying to take her away like that from you, mostly because we have come to accept the fact she is never going to feel for us what she feels for you, but also because we’re not really interested like that in her,” he explained. “Though I must confess it is frustrating to see her want to spend time with you.”

“You’re the ones to talk,” snarled Voldemort. “You’ve been with her for years.”

“Uh, months,” corrected Ramses, after only having joined the gang in December.

“So what if we’ve spent years by her side and you only a couple of days,” said Marvolo, waving his hand dismissively. “Do you think we care about that? No, we don’t. In fact, we couldn’t care less; we just want her to spend as much time with us as before you came along to steal her attention.”

Voldemort couldn’t believe this. He was fighting for Aya’s time and attention with himself. Well, parts of himself. Ridiculous. 

“But that’s not what we wanted to discuss,” added Marvolo.

“Then what did you want to talk about?” asked Voldemort impatiently.

“Aya’s mortality,” said Tom gravely.

Voldemort tensed. A sense of dread filled and spread through his chest.

“She might have said that she will always be with us, but she’s not like us. She’s mortal. She won’t live forever. She will die,” he paused, swallowing hard, “and leave us behind and we don’t want that, Voldemort.”

He didn’t want that either. Just imagining losing her made his chest ache. He hugged her tightly to his body and she nuzzled his chest.

“The permanent soul bond between you and her will make it so she gets reborn and falls in love with you, but it won’t be _her_ ,” continued Tom, morose. “Just like we are not you. It will be the same soul, but the body will be different, the name will be different, the personality will be different, her way of thinking will be different, everything about her will be different, except for her soul and I don’t know about you, Voldemort, but none of us four want anyone else but Aya. It _has_ to be her as she is _now_ , in this lifetime. Not a reincarnation, because we can’t imagine a day anymore without her and, honestly, I don’t know how we’ve ever managed to go by without her in our lives.”

Voldemort couldn’t agree more. If Aya gets reborn, she will be a different person because the circumstances in which she will be born and the parents she is going to be born to will be different. She will grow up differently, with a different mind-set. She might retain some semblance to _Aya_ , but, ultimately, it will not be her and he couldn’t imagine being with someone who wasn’t _Aya_ , _his_ Aya.

His horcruxes were right. How he ever managed to live without her was a mystery to him, when he couldn’t imagine a more bleak existence without Aya to brighten it with her voice, smile, laughter, crazy ideas, hugs and kisses. Her scent provided comfort, a sense of peace and happiness he had never felt before he met her.

“I didn’t like her at first,” admitted Marvolo. “She talked too much, she was vulgar, and she had too much energy. Too much life in her. If I were Tom, I would have used her life force to get a body or something, but no, he was fine with just talking with her either in his diary or outside, when no one was around to see her talking to thin air. I couldn’t understand it … until he told me how she makes him feel accepted, loved, and less lonely. After that, I decided to give her a chance to prove herself and, slowly, the things that previously irritated me about her were now something I couldn’t imagine going a day without, without feeling like something was missing.”

“And she cares for us,” added Gaunt. “She may not love us romantically like she loves you, but she cares like no one ever has and she shows it all the time. If we lose her, it would feel like dying.”

“You have to find a way to prevent her from dying,” said Ramses.

“I agree,” whispered Voldemort, “but I’m not sure she would want to split her soul for the creation of a horcrux.”

She might be a sadist and fine with torture and killing in certain cases, but she wasn’t a monster. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to mutilate her beautiful soul like he mutilated his. He didn’t want her to go through that painful and hazardous process.

“Then find another way,” whisper-yelled Tom exasperatedly. “You’re smart, capable of moving around and reading books. While you’re thinking about how you want to change the wizarding world, think about how to make Aya immortal as well, because the sooner you find a way to make her immortal, the sooner we’ll all feel at ease.”

They withdrew back into their containers, leaving behind a restless Voldemort.

He still had time, he told himself, and there wasn’t much he could do with her being pregnant anyway. It could hurt the babies and neither he nor Aya would ever do anything that might be harmful for their children.

It wasn’t until an hour after the conversation with his soul shards that Aya’s breathing lulled him to sleep, together with the softness of her curves and her body heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought of the chapter.😄 What were some of the things that stood out to you. I reckon most of you already suspected Aya was expecting triplets, so, this chapter finally confirmed it. 😊
> 
> Also, thank you to all who have continued reading the series and to any new readers too for the reads, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comments. 🤗😘💕


	3. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant day at the Riddle Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support! 🤗💕
> 
> Remember, feel free to express your thoughts, opinions, ask questions. Not everyone will like everything and it's perfectly fine. Just be respectful about it.
> 
> That being said, enjoy the chapter! 😇

_3 August 2016, Riddle Manor, 8:42_

The sound of Jazz Jackrabbit main menu theme song rose Aya from her sleep. With eyes still glued together, she turned away from Voldemort and blindly palmed for her phone on the nightstand. She only peeked at the screen to see the identity of the caller, before closing them again. It was Hermione. She answered the call.

“Hey,” she greeted half-asleep still, her voice hoarse.

“Did I wake you?”

“Aha,” she mumbled, “but don’t worry,” she assured her, slurring her words. “What is it?”

“Well, I just got my O.W.L. results and I got all Os!” she said excitedly through the phone. “Okay … I got an E in Defence,” she added sullenly, “but, everything else was Outstanding!”

“Nice,” praised Aya and settled on her side, away from Voldemort.

“And you?” she prompted her. “Did you get your O.W.L. results?”

“Aha, yesterday,” she yawned long and wide, but didn’t elaborate.

“And? How did you do?” wanted to know Hermione.

“One E more than you, but I did better than you in Defence,” she said.

Sheets rustled and she felt movement coming from behind her.

“You got two Es and an O in Defence?” exclaimed Hermione.

She answered with another sleepy ‘Aha’. “I got an E in Astronomy and History,” she elaborated.

Voldemort pressed himself into her back, his morning wood poking her ass, and his arm wrapped around her middle. She felt him nuzzle her hair, but otherwise continued sleeping. She smiled, pressed her backside against his morning erection, gently rolling her hips to cause friction, and covered his arm with hers, lightly passing her blunt fingernails across his skin.

“I’m really curious to know how the others did as well,” said Hermione, her excitement seeping through the phone. “Maybe we should meet sometime this week for school shopping and we can discuss about N.E.W.T.-level subjects too.”

“Sure, why not,” said Aya, but in her mind she already knew she wouldn’t be attending school with her friends anymore. Which reminded her, she still needed to tell her friends about her pregnancy and her relationship with Voldemort, but she needed to talk with Voldemort about it first … after a round (or two) of morning sex.

Speaking of which, Voldemort was now kissing, licking and nibbling on her nape, while rubbing his hard, leaking and twitching cock against her ass cheeks. His hand had moved from her stomach to her lower abdomen and down the front of her panties, rubbing her increasingly wet pussy.

“But not today, maybe tomorrow,” she added slightly strained, doing her best to muffle a moan that wanted to escape her throat. “In the meantime, you can write to the others and set up a meeting, but please, not before ten o’clock, I need my sleep.” Especially since, she would have to get up extra early just because she needed almost three hours and a half to get there with the thestral carriage or muggle bus.

Hermione giggled. “Then what about eleven?”

Voldemort removed her panties and slipped his cock between her thighs, rubbing it against her folds, slicking it with her pussy juices.

“Make it eleven-thirty. Just in case.”

His lips moved onto her shoulder and showered it with the same kind of attention as her nape.

“Okay, I’ll let the others know. At the Leaky Cauldron like usual?”

“Yes,” breathed Aya, hoping Hermione was going to hang up soon, because she was _really_ aroused and she _really_ wanted to moan for Voldemort and feed his ego.

“Okay, I’ll let you sleep. See you tomorrow,” she said energetically.

“Yeah.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

She hung up and immediately let out a moan.

“Who was it?” he asked in a husky voice.

She returned her phone to the nightstand. “My friend Hermione,” she breathed, turning and hooking a leg around his hips. He immediately slipped his cock between her legs again, while his hands cradled her ass, caressing, kneading and squeezing. “She wanted to tell me about her O.W.L. results and asked me about mine too.” She hugged him.

He gave her Eskimo kisses. His arms left her ass and moved up her back, until they reached her bra and unhooked it. Once her breasts were free, she pressed them against his chest.

“I also agreed to meet with my friends tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron at eleven-thirty to go school shopping.”

“I heard that, yes.”

He caught her lips in a kiss and slipped his cock inside her welcoming heat, making her sigh in contentment, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of finally being filled again with his length after more than a month.

“I missed this,” she whispered against his lips, “having you inside me, filling me with your cock.”

He made a sound of arousal somewhere in the back of his throat. “Me too,” he admitted. “I missed being like this with you too.”

They kissed long and hard, slowly rolling their hips, creating friction and taking in every glorious second of their intimate reunion. It didn’t take them long to reach the climax and for Voldemort to spill himself inside her.

They stayed joined for a while, snuggling and cuddling, peppering each other with lazy butterfly kisses. It wasn’t until quarter past nine that they left the comfort of their bed and went to the bathroom to take care of their business.

After brushing their teeth, they decided to have a bath together, where they continued to shower each other with affectionate touches and kisses while washing each other.

“Darling,” she began softly, soaping his chest. He murmured to let her know he heard her. “I still haven’t told my friends about the babies and us. Is it okay with you if I tell them about us? I do wish to invite them to the wedding.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and leaned his head against the tub.

“If you tell them that means more people knowing about my return and the more people know about it, the greater the risk of Dumbledore finding out.” He looked at her.

“I know,” she said, wincing in sympathy, and rubbed his chest, “that’s why I’m asking. If you don’t wish me to tell them, I won’t. They’re my friends, but you’re my husband and I want to respect your wishes and decisions in regards to this.”

For a long minute, he was quiet, staring at the bathroom ceiling, thinking what answer to give her.

“Tell them,” he said finally, “but make sure they sign a bewitched parchment to prevent them from accidentally spreading the word.”

She smiled and pressed herself against him, hugging him. “I will.” She kissed him. He caught her by the waist and kissed her back. “Thank you, darling. I love you.”

He kissed her again and nuzzled her neck.

“How long will you be absent tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject a bit. He didn’t want to sound overbearing or desperate, but he really didn’t look forward to a day without Aya, not when the conversation with the horcruxes was still fresh in his mind.

She frowned in thought. “Not sure, but I plan to finish the hangout around three o’clock, go to Grimmauld Place and pack a few of my things like clothes and shoes, so we don’t have to buy me new ones unnecessarily. We might be rich, but that doesn’t mean we can just start spending money left and right.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled.

“And I also need to talk with my father about letting me have the house elf.” She soaped his arms. “You won’t mind if I bring him here, right? I already promised not to abandon him and to give him a chance to look after the babies and me.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, shrugging. “Winky could always use an extra pair of hands in the kitchen or around the manor.”

She smiled. “True,” she agreed. “So, depending on how long it takes me to pack, I suppose I’ll be back by dinner, around eight or nine o’clock,” she concluded.

He took the sponge from her hands and began washing her arms.

“Will you travel with the carriage?” he asked after a while.

She thought for a moment. “Well, either that or the muggle bus,” she said, “but the busses have a strict schedule and the carriage can wait for me.”

“Then, I’ll let Winky know to prepare a late dinner tomorrow and I’ll let Barty know to rent a carriage for tomorrow,” he said, moving the sponge over her chest. “When will you go?”

“At eight o’clock sharp. So, if you tell Barty to rent the carriage for five to eight, I think that will be fine.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on her breasts. Now that they looked bigger and softer, he really wanted to touch them.

“Speaking of Barty … remember not to be too harsh on him today when you talk with him. Remember that he sees you as a father,” she reminded him gently.

He let out a sigh. “I will keep that in mind, but I still want to make it clear to him that I won’t tolerate another stunt like that.”

“Understandable,” she agreed, chuckling.

He let go of the sponge in favour of gently soaping Aya’s breasts with his hands. They were so soft and round they reminded him of delicious candy to suck on, or a pillow to rest his head on or to bury his face between them.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She let out a content sigh and a soft moan left her lips. He smirked. His hands gently glided over her soft skin, slowly making their way down her front and between her legs, where she eagerly spread them to make it easier for him to reach her pussy.

He gently rubbed the folds and the clit, making Aya’s breath quicken. Through her haze of building pleasure, she reached under the water as well to grab his hardened length and ‘clean’ it thoroughly as well.

Feeling her fingers wrapped around his shaft again, made him hiss in pleasure. Encouraged by his reaction, she pumped his cock gently, passing her thumbs gently over his leaking head, all the while scooting closer.

When they were both aroused enough, he grabbed her firmly by the hips and pulled her to him, making her straddle his lap and capturing her lips in a passionate and needy kiss. She held onto his shoulders for support, returning the kiss with the same kind of intensity, letting him claim her mouth by swirling his tongue inside it possessively. Then, she slowly lowered herself onto his length, impaling herself with his thick cock, eliciting a sound of delight from both of them.

They kept kissing, alternating between lips, neck and shoulders, until she began to ride him gently. Voldemort’s hands kept running up and down her body, caressing her legs, her back, her neck, squeezing every so often, trying to leave imprints of his fingers on her skin to let everyone know she belonged to him. Not even death had the right to take her away from him.

As she gently undulated and rocked her hips, her incredibly tempting breasts rubbed gently against his chest. Maybe next time they took a bath together like this, he should ask her to soap his back with her boobs. He was sure she wouldn’t mind. In fact, he was quite positive she would be more than delighted to clean his entire body with her breasts. Yes, even his dick … especially his dick. A new wave of arousal coursed through him as he imagined his cock nestled between her pillow-like breasts.

He grunted and a second later caught one of her nipples with his mouth and swirled his hot tongue over it. She whimpered his name, throwing her head back in ecstasy and squeezing his dick with her pussy. He kept squeezing, licking and sucking on her boobs, until she became undone and came all over his cock, screaming his name and pressing his face to her chest. He followed her shortly after, when he felt her clam down around him and he filled her with his seed.

Breathing heavily, they slowly came down from their high. They had their arms wrapped around one another and their heads resting on each other’s shoulders, lazily gliding over each other’s skin with their fingers and nails.

Aya smiled and sighed in happiness at the feeling of her husband’s warm cum filling and swirling inside her. She placed a kiss on his shoulder and kissed her way up his neck to his jaw, where she went straight for his lips.

“ _I love you, darling_ ,” she hissed against them and Voldemort responded by intensifying the kiss, still buried deep inside her warmth. They stayed joined even after separating for air.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking,” he said, gently scratching her arms and back.

“What is it?” she murmured, nuzzled into his neck, half-asleep, due to how good his touch felt against her skin.

“Since Barty sees me as a father figure and he’s been helping me a lot these past few years, I think you and I could blood adopt him.”

She lifted her head from his shoulders to look at him.

“I don’t mind, but while he wouldn’t mind officially becoming your son, he might not want to have an adoptive mother, who, by the way, is half his age, after his biological mother did what she did for him.”

“It’s not like you will be replacing her,” he pointed out, “but I’m only going to blood adopt Barty if you blood adopt him with me.”

“As I said, if he’s okay with me becoming his adoptive mother, I’m okay with it too, but do you think it would be wise to do it while I’m pregnant?” she said. “I worry my pregnancy hormones in the blood might cause problems together with the blood type. I told you, as an AB+, I can only donate blood to other people with the same blood type, so, unless Barty is an AB+ too, there’s no way I can blood adopt him.”

“Then what about my blood?” countered Voldemort. “After combining human and unicorn blood together with snake venom, what kind of effect do you think is going to have, ha?”

“Your blood is a whole another story, darling,” she chuckled. “First, I would like to see what colour it is, if it’s red, blue, green, yellow or silver. I want to see just how much of an alien you are,” she teased him, laughing.

“I’ll give you an alien,” he retorted, playfully splashing a bit of water into her face. She squealed and protected her face, but kept laughing good-naturedly.

“It almost got in my eye,” she complained, smiling.

“It would serve you right for making fun of your husband,” returned Voldemort, amused.

She had another fit of laughter.

“What’s so entertaining now?”

It took her a while, but she calmed down enough to say, “I just had this image of you in a muggle lab, waiting for blood results, and when the doctor calls you into his office, he’s like, ‘Sir, how are you still alive, when there is a high concentration of poison in your blood?’, and you’re like, ‘I just am. Do you have a problem with that?’” before bursting into another round of laughter.

Seeing her laugh to the point of tears, almost made him laugh as well. Instead, he refrained and shook his head, amused.

“If my results show abnormalities, we can always obliviate the doctor,” he said, nibbling on her ear. That seemed to calm her laughter and instead make her whimper in arousal.

“True,” she agreed breathlessly. Already more than ready for another round of sex. However, when she began to move her hips, he stopped her.

Before she got the chance to wonder why he was stopping her, he hissed huskily into her ear, “ _You had your chance to ride me, now I want to mount you_.”

Instantly, she left the comfort of his lap, letting his already hard cock slip out of her pussy, only to turn and grab the edge of the tub, lifting her pussy and ass above the water and putting them on display for her husband.

She moaned in anticipation as she saw him move closer from over her shoulder.

“ _So eager and hungry for my cock, my sweet and precious wife_ ,” he cooed in parseltongue and it made her pussy clench in excitement.

He ran the back of his fingers over her folds, teasing her, then, he let his claws scrape her thighs gently, making goosebumps erupt on her skin. Kneeling between her legs, he pushed her knees as wide apart as the width of the narrow tub allowed, before rubbing his twitching dick against her pussy, eliciting sounds of pleasure from his wife.

“ _My pussy and I will always be eager and hungry for you and your cock, my darling and amazing husband_ ,” she cooed back and a deep, animalistic sound left his throat at her words.

He leaned forward, draping his front over her back, kissing and licking at her nape and shoulders, before slipping again into her tight and eager pussy in one swift and rough thrust. She moaned loudly at the roughness and let her head tilt backwards.

He started slow and hard, his hands holding and squeezing her boobs gently and his lips nibbling on her ear. As his pace quickened, one of his hands grabbed her gently by the throat to turn her face to him and catch her lips in a searing kiss, while his other hand slipped between her thighs to rub at her clit, making her pussy clench in pleasure. When his thrusts turned even faster and rougher than before, his hands joined hers on the edge of the tub, while water splashed against the bathtub and over it onto the floor.

Low, hoarse grunts mixed with throaty, high-pitched whimpers and moans, until Aya’s pussy clenched around him and called out his name in parseltongue, and he rammed into her one final time, cumming hard and deep inside her pussy, hissing, “ _Mine,_ ” in a possessive tone and biting down on her shoulder.

They remained like that for several minutes, where Voldemort took his time to leave as many hickeys as he could, all over Aya’s neck, shoulders and back, before pulling away, his spent cock slipping out of her warmth.

She whimpered in disappointment, but remained bent over the edge with her ass in the air, while the excess cum slowly trickled out of her pussy and down her clit. Before it dripped into the tub, she felt him pick it up, put it back in, and wordlessly and wandlessly conjure up a plug that would keep his seed inside her.

“ _You may already be pregnant with my children, but that doesn’t mean I will allow my seed to drip out of your pussy, my darling wife,_ ” he hissed huskily. “ _Not when I worked hard to fill you up with it_.”

She couldn’t agree more.

…

After drying each other and making themselves decent (as much as she was proud and happy to wear Voldemort’s hickeys on her skin, she really didn’t want Sirius to suffer another shock, so she asked him to glamour them until the coast was clear), they went downstairs for a late breakfast.

They expected other residents of the manor to have already eaten without them, but it turned out that Barty, Sirius and Severus decided to wait for them.

“Good morning, pup,” greeted Sirius. “Took you long enough to come down. I wonder what you two were doing,” he commented sarcastically, knowing very well what they were doing, since all three of them were able to hear the muffled moans and grunts coming from upstairs.

Aya rolled her eyes, went up to her parents, and greeted them with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. She greeted Barty with a ‘Good morning’ too, before sitting down at the head of the table on Voldemort’s left.

“So …” began Sirius after they started eating, “any plans for today?”

“After I have a talk with Barty,” Barty swallowed nervously, “I plan to work on the History of Magic curriculum,” said Voldemort, keeping his voice and expression impassive.

“And I planned to spend some time with you two,” added Aya, smiling, referring to her fathers.

Sirius nodded, satisfied. “I imagine you plan to place one of yours as the new History of Magic teacher,” he said, speaking to Voldemort. “Who is it?”

Voldemort just looked at Barty and Barty raised his hand.

“You?” he said, baffled. Even Severus had to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you even qualified to teach at all?” asked Aya.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” admitted Barty, “but I’ll try my best to be a good teacher.”

Aya nodded. “When are you going to move into your quarters at Hogwarts?”

“August 15th.”

“That’s less than two weeks away,” she exclaimed, horrified. “We need to have a good luck party before you go,” said Aya with finality. “In the meantime, I’m going to get you a few books and articles on pedagogy, child psychology and didactics so that you will know how to write lesson plans, which teaching methods to use, how the brain develops in children and teenagers and how the memory works.”

“Uh, okay,” he said uncertainly.

“But don’t forget your other assignment,” reminded him Voldemort sternly, taking a sip of his black tea with milk.

“Of course not, my Lord,” he said.

Aya looked at Voldemort. “What other assignment?”

Voldemort looked warily at his fathers-in-law, not sure, if they should know about it, but since he would be discussing changes with Sirius anyway, he might as well tell him about Remus Lupin.

“Finding out what Remus Lupin is,” he said.

Aya raised her eyebrows in question, not understanding why he would need to know something like that. Sirius, on the other hand, was immediately wary of the intentions behind it.

“Why do you want to know what Moony is?” he said in a strained voice.

“Because I want to know why he stuck around as the Defence Professor, when in my youth I cursed the position for humans,” he explained.

“And what are you going to do once you learn what he is?” pressed Sirius. “If you plan to sack him, because of his condition …”

“Condition?” Voldemort narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “What condition?”

Aya looked at Sirius, silently asking whether to tell Voldemort or not, and if so, who should do it. When he let out a resigned sigh and looked at his plate, she took over the explanation.

“Darling,” she said softly, drawing his attention to her, “Professor Lupin is a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” repeated Voldemort.

Barty paled. A werewolf like Fenrir Greyback. He was going to be colleagues with another werewolf.

“Yes, he’s a werewolf,” snarled Sirius. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Voldemort looked at Sirius. “I don’t have a problem with werewolves,” he said slowly and in a dangerous tone, “what I do have a problem with is an untamed werewolf in a school full of children.”

“Darling,” she reached for his thigh under the table, “there hasn’t been a single incident with Lupin since he started teaching, because Papa Sev is brewing regular doses of Wolfsbane Potion for him every month,” she spoke softly. “I don’t see the need to sack him. This job is his livelihood, you know.”

He looked from Aya to his parents-in-law. Then, finally to Barty, “Well, Barty,” he said, “now that we know what Remus Lupin is, your job, apart from teaching, will be to keep an eye on him and make sure there continue to be no incidents.”

He gulped, “Yes, my Lord.”

Aya smiled at Voldemort and leant over the table to place a kiss on his cheek, while he covered her hand under the table, intertwined their fingers and gently squeezed it.

After they finished with the breakfast, Voldemort and Barty excused themselves and retired to Voldemort’s study, but not before him leaning down and speaking into Aya’s ear. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he whispered and pressed a quick, but affectionate kiss to her cheek.

“See you,” she returned, smiling.

…

“Sit.” Barty did as told. “Start explaining,” demanded Voldemort with a stern tone and look.

Barty swallowed and took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “You were struggling with focus and productivity, because of Miss Aya’s absence,” he said, rubbing his sweaty hands against his thighs to ease his nerves, “and as your servant I couldn’t watch you waste away like that. Not when it was evident you harboured strong, romantic feelings for her and that you felt better with her around.”

Voldemort kept glaring at him.

“And you took it upon yourself to be the matchmaker between Aya and me by going behind my back to send her letters, to meet with her, break into my desk and cupboard to steal my Pensieve?” he spoke with sarcasm.

Barty gulped, keeping his eyes on his lap. He wasn’t sure how his Lord knew about all that, but there was no point in denying it. “Yes,” he admitted. “I wish I didn’t have to do all of that and behind your back, but you didn’t leave me other choice.”

“Why?” he wanted to know. “Why do it? It should be of no concern to you if I have feelings for Aya or not.”

“Because I care,” he said with conviction, looking Voldemort directly into his narrowed and hard eyes. “I care for your well-being, for your happiness, and if you were not going to take care of your own health and happiness … then, someone else had to do it for you.”

“Why do you care?” insisted Voldemort. He wanted to see if Barty had enough courage to tell him he saw him as a father. “I’m your Lord, yes, but nothing else.”

Barty looked like he was debating whether to tell him or not, but in the end, he told him the truth.

“Because you’re like a father to me,” he confessed. “You rescued me when my own father kept me under an Invisibility Cloak and the Imperius Curse to keep me from searching for you. You nursed me back to health. I know it was Quirrell doing the motions, but they were on your order. Then, after Quirrell died, you trusted me enough to help you search for a way to restore your body. You let me be your host. You let me act as your scribe when you started your correspondence with Miss Aya and you couldn’t move your limbs properly. You let me arrange the meeting between her and you. You entrusted so much to me … and I felt honoured. I didn’t want to disappoint you. I didn’t plan to intervene, mostly not to incur your wrath, but in the end, I couldn’t just sit still with crossed arms and watch you wither. I know I went against you. I violated your trust and I overstepped my boundaries as your servant, but whatever punishment you will put me through, I will gladly accept it, because you are yourself again, only much happier.”

Even though he was terrified, he still spoke with determination and conviction.

Voldemort regarded him for a while longer, without saying a single word, until he stood up, walked around the table, stopped right in front of Barty, and said, “Get up” in an authoritative voice.

Barty gulped, but did as told. A second later, Voldemort grabbed the sides of his head with a firm grip.

“Listen well, Barty,” he spoke in a low and stern voice. “This time, I’m not going to punish you, because Aya asked me not to do it. However, should you do something like this again, not even Aya’s interference will be able to save you from my displeasure. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” he nodded.

“If you want to tell me something, say it to my face, don’t go behind my back like that ever again.”

“Understood.”

Voldemort nodded, satisfied with the response. “Another thing,” he said, his hands dropping to Barty’s shoulders. “I knew about you seeing me as a father figure since yesterday, when Aya showed me the memories of her meeting with you. And today, I talked with her about blood adopting you.”

“B-Blood adoption?” repeated Barty incredulously. “Y-You want to b-blood adopt me?”

“I don’t know a thing about parenting and how to be a father and I have three kids on the way with a scheduled birth on February 24th, 2017. I might as well get some practice in with you, before they are born,” said Voldemort. “I know you’re already an adult, but I can still learn something, can’t I? However, it will only happen if Aya becomes your blood-adoptive mother and if there are no complications due to Aya’s pregnancy hormones and our blood not matching. What do you say?”

Barty blinked a few times, trying to form a coherent sentence. “… I guess I don’t mind Miss Aya blood adopting me, but … wouldn’t it be uncomfortable given that she’s eighteen years my junior?” he said uncertainly.

“That’s the same thing she said.”

“Well,” began Barty carefully, “if she doesn’t mind and if everything is okay technically speaking, then, yes I would like it if you and Miss Aya blood adopted me.”

“Excellent.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, before Voldemort did something Barty never expected, he pulled him in for a firm hug. It only lasted a couple of seconds at most, not nearly enough for Barty’s mind to register and process it, then, have him react accordingly.

“One last thing,” said Voldemort seriously.

“Tell me,” retorted Barty, still recovering from the surprise hug.

“When you have the time today, rent the same carriage for tomorrow. Tell the company we expect the carriage at five to eight in the morning.”

“I will.”

…

While Voldemort was talking with Barty, Aya went to the living room with her fathers and sat on the sofa between them.

“So …” began Sirius, facing her, one leg tucked under the other, and leaning against the back of the sofa with his arm, “what did you want to talk with us?”

“First, I want to ask you if you will stay here until tomorrow or if you will leave by dinner?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why? So that you’ll be able to have more undisturbed sex with Voldemort? Though by how loud you were this morning, I would say you don’t mind doing it while Severus and I are in the same house as you,” commented Sirius caustically.

“Hey, I don’t want to hear you complaining about me having sex with Voldemort in _our_ house, when you and Sev are having sex with me next door all the time at home,” retorted Aya defensively.

“Of course Severus and I have sex,” said Sirius, “but at least we are mindful of you and put up silencing charms as to not disturb you while you’re sleeping, reading, playing or watching something. You and Voldemort, on the other hand, seem to forget silencing charms are even a thing and just go at it regardless of who else is living at the manor, because let me tell you, your sex session this morning sounded like you were having sex right above the dining room, with how everything echoed.” He pointed to the ceiling.

“We’ll try to be mindful of guests when we have them in the future, but that’s not why I was asking.”

“Then why _do_ you want to know when we’ll be leaving?”

“I’m meeting with my friends tomorrow in London for school shopping,” she informed them, “and I’m using the same carriage as yesterday to get there. Since it takes almost three hours and a half to get there, I was hoping we could go there together. Then, after the hangout, I want to go to Grimmauld to get a few things and bring them here. Also, I want to take Kreacher with me.”

Sirius let out a heavy sigh.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she added, when she saw his dejected expression. “I already promised him he would help me take care of the babies.”

“No,” he assured her. “You can take Kreacher with you if you need him to help you with the pregnancy and nursing, I just don’t look forward to you moving out of Grimmauld to move here with Voldemort.”

“Papa …” she began gently, but Sirius interrupted her.

“I know, I know,” he said impatiently. “He’s your happiness, the father of your kids, your soon-to-be husband and you want to live with him, I get it. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. You barely turned sixteen and you’re already leaving the nest to make your own and I feel like I’m losing you when I barely even got the chance to be your father.”

“Oh, Papa Siri, you’re not losing me.” She hugged him and he immediately hugged back tightly. She gestured for Severus to join the hug as well.  “Just because I won’t live at Grimmauld anymore, that doesn’t mean I’ll never come visit or that I’ll never talk to you again,” she assured them. “Besides, without me there, you won’t have to worry about putting up silencing charms before sex anymore,” she added mischievously. “You’ll be able to scream as much as you want and maybe you will decide to explore sex in different rooms and on different surfaces around the house.”

Sirius snorted. “You make it sound like the first thing Severus and I will do is celebrate your move with lots of sex around the house starting with your room.”

“Well, if you want to try doing it on my bed, go ahead,” she told them with a shrug. “I told you, I don’t mind you two going at it like rabbits. In fact, to this day I still wonder who is topping and who is bottoming, and sometimes when I’m reading or watching gay fiction, especially manga and anime, I tend to imagine you two doing and saying all sorts of things.”

Sirius burst into booming laughter, while Severus only sighed in resignation. “Aya, I swear, you must be the only child who pays that much attention to their parents’ sex life,” he commented exasperatedly.

“Well, what did you expect?” she said defensively. “With how perverted I am, of course, I would pay attention to that, especially when you went to such lengths to leave it all to my imagination by locking yourselves in your room and putting up silencing charms.”

Sirius kept laughing hard. Severus simply pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, pup,” Sirius wheezed after a while, “if you must know, I’m bottoming for Severus. However, I hope to convince him to let me top at least once a year.”

“And do you moan like they moan in porn or hentai?” she questioned excitedly.

“Not exactly,” said Severus, “but he comes surprisingly close, when he’s eager and desperate.”

“You don’t seem to mind when I make loud noises during sex, Severus.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It makes you pretty excited.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually discussing something like this with you, Aya,” muttered Severus under his breath, his pale complexion making it obvious he was blushing.

Aya laughed.

“Anyway, pup,” said Sirius, changing the subject. “I’m holding you to the promise that you’ll come and visit us whenever you are able.”

“I will.” She smiled brightly. “It might be difficult for me to visit right now, because I can’t travel by floo or apparition and it takes hours to travel to London and back; but we can call or FaceTime each other, and if that’s not enough, then, you can come visit whenever you want. And now, that I’m having triplets, I’m going to need lots of help and support, because I know I said I can handle it, but I’m worried. It’s my first pregnancy and I don’t really know what to expect, because it’s one thing to read about pregnancy and another completely different is actually experiencing it, and each woman experiences it differently so, yeah, there’s that as well.”

Severus and Sirius hugged her again. “You can always turn to us for help and support, pup,” said Sirius from her left.

“We’ll always be there for you,” added Severus from her right.

She let them cuddle her. “Thank you.” She looked from one to the other. “I’ll try not to lean too much on you, but a helping hand here and there would be much appreciated. Especially when Voldemort and I would like some alone time for ourselves once the kids get a bit older.”

Sirius chuckled. “Don’t worry. Sev and I will babysit for you when the time comes.”

…

With less than an hour to lunch, Voldemort and Barty joined them in the sitting room. Aya immediately settled into Voldemort’s lap as soon as he sat down on the sofa opposite them and greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss and a brilliant smile.

While they waited for lunch, Sirius and Voldemort discussed the improvements Aya and Voldemort intended to make to the manor in the form of warding, off-grid electricity and muggle technology. However, just before the lunch was ready, Aya whispered to Voldemort about removing the plug so she could go to the toilet in parseltongue. When she returned to the table in the dining room, he reached between her legs and put the plug back in and Aya had to hold in a moan.

After lunch, Voldemort retired to his study to work on the History of Magic curriculum, Barty went to take care of the carriage, Sirius went to take a nap and while Aya would have gladly followed his example, she decided to stay awake and play some chess with Severus.

When the lunch food settled a bit, Aya felt in the mood for something sweet and baking. Therefore, she went to the kitchen to look at what was in the fridge, cupboards and pantry. Since there weren’t any special baking equipment and ingredients, she couldn’t prepare anything complex, however, she could go to the local supermarket to get some puff pastry, hazelnut spread, parchment paper, a muffin pan, muffin paper and ceramic ramekins, together with a few other additional ingredients like whipping cream, mascarpone cheese, ladyfingers, active dry yeast, vanilla extract, chocolate, cocoa powder and different kinds of fruit.

Making a list of things to buy, she took her bag with the phone, wallet, Tom and Ramses, and went to the supermarket. Due to the heat there weren’t many people out on the streets, so to pass the time it took her to get to the supermarket and back, she talked a bit with the horcruxes, who were more than happy to _finally_ have some alone time with her.

“What do you plan to make?” asked Tom.

“Well, I was in the mood for something simple, so I’m going to make hazelnut-spread and lemon curd puff pastry pockets,” said Aya. “But I’ll get some extra stuff to make baked churros, muffins, cream pan, profiteroles, eclairs, fruit tarts, vanilla custard doughnuts, and tiramisu in the following days. Then, after all that sugar, I think I’ll make some pizza, either a classic one, with tuna or with seafood, and pasta with different sauces and, of course, lots of different potato dishes. I’ll throw some rice dishes in the mix as well, just to give Voldemort as much variety as possible.”

“Sounds delicious,” said Marvolo.

“I know, right?” she said excitedly, only to let out a gasp and stop abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” said Ramses.

“The plug,” she whispered breathlessly. “The plug Voldemort put inside my pussy to keep his cum inside is creating friction as I walk and I’m getting all hot and bothered for sex with Voldemort again.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” exclaimed Gaunt. “You still have that thing inside? Didn’t he get it out when you went to the toilet before lunch?”

“Of course I have it inside,” she said importantly. “Voldemort put it there, so until he removes it I’m going to keep it in, okay? And yes, he took it out, then, he put it back in during lunch.”

“Never, then.”

“Nah,” said Marvolo, “just until he wants to have sex with her again and then he’ll put it back in.”

“Yeah, like I said,” reiterated Gaunt, “she’s forever stuck with the vaginal plug, because he’s constantly going to make sure she’s full of cum.”

“Now, you’re just exaggerating,” deadpanned Aya, “and even if he intends to have me wear a vaginal plug at all times to keep the sperm inside, well, it’s not like I would mind it terribly. I do happen to like the feeling of Voldemort’s cum inside me.”

“I’m sure he’ll remove it when she’ll have to go to the toilet or give birth the natural way,” commented Ramses.

“Don’t remind me,” said Tom grimly. “I still can’t believe he got her pregnant and with triplets on the first try.”

“Who would have thought he had it in him, ha?” commented Marvolo.

“We’re lucky we don’t have physical bodies, because we might have had the same kind of reaction he had, when he found out about it,” said Gaunt.

“Hey,” interjected Aya, “so what if he fainted. It’s a completely understandable and natural reaction when you receive news like that.”

“I suppose,” allowed Gaunt.

“At least he was man enough to take responsibility and stopped being an ass about his feelings for Aya,” mumbled Tom.

“Yeah, now he’s all touchy-feely with her, constantly kissing and touching and hugging and wanting to have sex,” said Gaunt.

“Not that Aya is any better,” remarked Ramses. “They already had sex three times today and now she’s craving sex again.”

Tom, Marvolo and Gaunt agreed, nodding. “True.”

“Hey,” whined Aya defensively, “there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with my husband and the father of my children, especially after we were both celibate for over a month. It’s only natural that we want to have as much sex as we can to compensate for the month we were separated.”

The horcruxes said nothing.

Back at home, Aya busied herself with baking, with her husband’s horcruxes keeping her company. While the pastries baked, she prepared some tea to go with the pastries.

After the sweets and the tea were done, she poured the tea into two cups, one for Voldemort and one for herself, and placed four pastries, two with hazelnut-spread filling and two with lemon curd filling, on a dessert plate. Then, she placed everything on a small tray and went to Voldemort’s office to surprise him with the afternoon snack.


	4. Discussing Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort and Aya have a conversation, where Aya finally gets to express some of the things that bother her with magical education, why they bother her and how she would change them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: As you're aware, Aya is very opinionated and is not afraid to speak her mind (anymore). Some of you like that about her, some of you don't. She is also very practical and logical. Because of that, I'm warning you beforehand that this chapter contains strong opinions. You might completely agree with her, you might agree with most of what she thinks, you might only agree with some of her opinions or none at all. 
> 
> I hope that, no matter where you fall on this scale, you enjoy the chapter! 🤗💕

“Enter,” said Voldemort, when there was a knock on his study door, not taking his eyes off the document in front of him.

The door opened and the smell of baked goods greeted him together with Aya’s voice. “Hey, darling.” He looked up and saw her manoeuvring her way through the door with the tray filled with two cups of tea and a plate of pastries.

He put down the quill and leaned back in his chair, a grin resting on his face.

“I brought you your afternoon tea and snack,” she said, smiling, placing the tray on the table next to the papers. “I felt in the mood for baking, so I went to the supermarket to get some things for the next few days, so that I can spoil you with my baking.”

He immediately grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. “And what did you bake for me today?” he asked seductively, running his hands up and down her back.

“Well, since you have never tried a hazelnut spread before,” as she was talking, she was gently rubbing his shoulders and chest, “I thought I should make puff pockets with hazelnut spread filling and to balance out the sweetness from the spread, I also made puff pockets with lemon curd.”

He made a sound of delight. “Sounds delicious.” He smirked and caught her lips in a brief kiss, before nuzzling and resting his head on her breasts, hugging her body. In turn, she hugged his shoulders and gently stroked his scalp.

He let out a content sigh.

“How did the talk with Barty go?” she inquired softly.

“Surprisingly, well,” answered Voldemort. “I mentioned blood adoption to him and he said he wouldn’t mind if you don’t mind the age difference, and if everything turns out fine with the blood types.”

She chuckled. “Well, I’m glad my future adoptive son and I think alike. It helps when bonding with someone.”

They fell into a comfortable silence.

“How is updating the History of Magic curriculum going?” she asked him after a while.

“It’s coming along,” he mumbled, enjoying the softness of Aya’s breasts and the sound of her heartbeat.

“That’s good.”

She took the two pastries filled with hazelnut spread and passed one to Voldemort.

He took a bite and a delighted groan escaped his lips as the taste of chocolate and hazelnuts filled his mouth, and the flaky pastry practically melted on his tongue. “It tastes really good,” he said.

Aya beamed at him. “I’m glad you like it. On Friday, I’ll make tiramisu,” she informed him. “Unless, of course, you would prefer to try muffins or churros with chocolate sauce, maybe even vanilla custard doughnuts,” she added, starry-eyed.

He chuckled. “I have a feeling you will have me taste everything anyway, so do it in whichever order you prefer.”

“True, I have lots of dishes for you to try from sweet to savoury. I tell you, Voldemort, in a month or two, you won’t look like a twig anymore,” she assured him.

He burst out laughing. “Of that I have no doubt,” he said good-naturedly.

“But don’t worry, I won’t let you become Snorlax either,” she added seriously. He didn’t know what Snorlax was, but the way she said it still made him laugh.

They finished the hazelnut-filled pastry and took a good sip of tea. Aya glanced over the document Voldemort was working on and said, “Have you thought of renaming the subject into something else?”

“Uh, no,” he said, placing the cup into the saucer. “Why?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the subject name and the actual contents of the subject don’t actually match,” she said matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about you, but when I saw the name of the subject I thought I would be learning about history of _magic_ , how it came to be, how it changed through time, why it changed, how is today’s magic different from ancient magic, things like that. Instead, as soon as I started reading the textbook, I saw it was the same kind of shit as muggle history but with wizards and magical creatures. I felt cheated and disappointed,” she concluded gravely.

When she put it like that, he could see the discrepancy between the content and the name.

“Then what do you suppose we should call the subject to reflect the contents better?” he prompted her.

“History of Wizardkind and Magical Creatures,” she announced proudly. “It might not sound as appealing as History of Magic, but at least it would be a very accurate description of what you can expect from the course.”

He chuckled. “True.”

As they munched on the lemon curd puff pockets, Aya remembered something else. “Oh, and please, make changes in all subjects, especially the boggart part of the Defence curriculum.”

“I was planning to go through all subjects and update them anyway,” assured her Voldemort, but it surprised him, she seemed so passionate about the boggart part. “How do you want to change it?”

“First of all, it should _not_ be a public affair,” she said seriously. “It’s already traumatising enough to be confronted with your worst fear, imagine if you have to witness it in front of a bunch of other thirteen or fourteen-year-olds, who instead of sympathising with your fear, decide to use it as a weapon against you. Or what, are you going to tell me you felt splendid after the boggart lesson in your third year?”

“No.”

“See? So, instead of forcing people to expose their fears to people who could potentially abuse this kind of knowledge for bullying, you make the practical part of the lesson about boggarts a one-on-one thing, where the professor is the only other person in the room to intervene should the student struggle with banishing the boggart. You could potentially let friends face the boggart together so they offer emotional support to one another, but you would have no more than four people in the room as to not put unnecessary pressure on the student facing the boggart.”

“Makes sense.”

“Of course it makes sense. Besides, let’s be honest, in real life you would most likely encounter the boggart alone, so you should be capable of performing the banishing spell on your own without anyone else around you. What was your boggart, by the way?”

“My own corpse.” She hissed sympathetically. “Yours?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said blankly.

He stared back at her. “What do you mean nothing, it couldn’t have been nothing.”

“I’m telling you, there was nothing to be seen when it was my turn to face the boggart.”

“So, your worst fear would be invisibility?” he said, grimacing in confusion.

“I don’t know, maybe, but since I couldn’t cast ‘Riddikulus’ at nothing, Professor Lupin gave me an essay to write. I had to discuss boggarts and include my own interpretation as to why I think my boggart manifested as it did. So, as I read about boggarts, two theories occurred to me. They got me an Outstanding for originality.”

“Let’s hear them then,” teased Voldemort.

She cleared her throat importantly. “The first one is plausible, but I don’t know how probable, but, essentially, I speculated that I have so many fears that the boggart didn’t know which one was the worst one, so it just thought to itself, ‘Fuck this, I’m not doing this shit’ and kind of gave up.”

“You wrote that into your essay?” he said, his eyebrows raised in question and bewilderment.

“Of course I didn’t write it like that,” she assured him as if it was obvious, “I was more eloquent about it, but the point is the same.”

“And what was your other theory?”

“My other theory was that, since the boggart would expose my biggest fear in front of everyone and I _really_ didn’t want to be exposed like that, as I was waiting for my turn, out of _all_ the things that I feared; the boggart became the thing I feared the most. So, by the time I confronted the creature, the boggart recognised the fact that I feared it the most and was forced to take on the shape of itself. However, since boggarts are shapeshifters and don’t really _have_ a form, or at least no one has seen its true form, well, there was nothing to be seen,” she concluded nonchalantly.

“You forced a boggart to change into a boggart?” He couldn’t believe it.

“I think so,” shrugged Aya. “I call it ‘boggart-ception’.”

“Only you, Aya,” he breathed, shaking his head in amusement. “Only you.”

She grinned from ear to ear.

“Another thing,” she added, “I would personally introduce boggarts in fifth year, because by that time one has, _hopefully_ , matured intellectually, emotionally and magically and is thus better equipped to deal with boggarts, but you can keep it in third year if you want.”

“I’ll think about it, maybe even have a survey among students to see what they think.”

“Yeah, that could work.”

“Besides the subjects themselves, do you have any other suggestions how we could change and improve the magical education in Britain?”

“Ooph, darling,” she breathed, “if it were up to me, I would change _everything_.”

“Everything?” he repeated incredulously.

“ _Almost_ everything,” she corrected herself. “Starting by abolishing the Houses.”

“What’s wrong with the Houses?” he wondered, confused.

“Uh, just about everything at this point,” she said matter-of-factly, “and, honestly, they are completely unnecessary.” When she saw his wide-eyed expression, she challenged him. “Give me one good practical and logical reason the Houses should stay.”

He thought for a few seconds, before tentatively saying, “Administrative purposes?”

“Okay,” she allowed, “but you can divide students into four equal groups by labelling them A, B, C and D. Or, you could label the groups Square, Triangle, Circle, and X, if you want to go the Play Station route, but if you want to go the Xbox route, then, you would name the groups A, B, X, and Y. You don’t _need_ Hogwarts Houses for that and by using letters or shapes to label the groups, there are no connotations attached to them,” she pointed out.

“I know wizards, especially pureblooded ones, seem to be obsessed with tradition to the point that I’m wondering how the hell they even survived as a species for so long,” she continued. “Because while some traditions can withstand the test of time, some are just not viable after a certain period. Because while some traditions made perfect sense in medieval times, they might not make sense today, in the 21st century.”

She cleared her throat importantly.

“Now, I don’t know what the original purpose of the Houses was, but I assume it was purely academic and administrative. I imagine that, back then, when the school had its first set of students, the founders were the only available teachers. Depending on the size of the generation of pupils, I assume the founders felt that separating the students into smaller groups would make it easier when teaching, because in my mind, the founders had a master-apprentice type of relationship with their students and rather than each founder teaching one or two subjects, they all taught all subjects at the time. If you think in those terms, I can see the founders picking students who thought the same as them, who valued or possessed the same qualities as them, because it made teaching and learning enjoyable and a lot easier for both parties.”

“Now, however, not so much, especially when ambition, cunningness and resourcefulness are associated with evil or that being hard-working, loyal or honest is a universal weakness somehow. I don’t know why people think it’s such a terrible thing to be sorted into Hufflepuff, when in my mind Helga was the most open, patient and understanding teacher and founder. She was the inclusive one, not like the other three who only wanted a specific type of students. Imagine being an eleven-year-old witch or wizard in the founders’ time and you’re not really exceptional in any way and if it weren’t for Helga you wouldn’t even be given the chance to learn about magic, because neither Salazar, Rowena or Godric want you because you’re not ambitious enough, smart enough or brave enough. Helga might have taken the ‘rejects’ under her wing, but she made them blossom under her guidance.”

“I’m not saying that the other three weren’t good teachers,” she added quickly, “but in my opinion, they were more concerned over the personality traits than anything else. Just like how nowadays people automatically assume things as soon as you get to Hogwarts without actually knowing you. Everyone seems to be obsessed with labelling everyone and everything people do and say as ‘That’s such a Slytherin thing to do’, ‘Oh, you’re such a Hufflepuff’, ‘You’re as brave as a Gryffindor’, ‘Only Ravenclaws are smart enough to understand this’ and they either mean it as a compliment or an insult. I reckon that, at job interviews, employers give advantage to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and shun those who were in Slytherin or Hufflepuff, despite a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin achieving better marks or being better suited for the job, simply because being either a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff is apparently a bad thing. News flash for you, not everything in this world revolves around Hogwarts Houses and Hogwarts founders. If it does, then I fear for wizardkind and their intelligence,” she concluded dryly.

“And let’s not talk about some wizarding families that act as if someone had died if a child from a dominantly Gryffindor-sorted family gets sorted into Slytherin or vice versa. Oh, the tragedy and blasphemy! How _dare_ the child betray the family like that? Because, you know, there’s nothing worse than having a Slytherin in the family full of Gryffindors,” she commented sarcastically and Voldemort had to agree some families indeed overreacted.

Aya huffed derisively. “Seriously, as if it is not already stressful and terrifying enough to be on your own at eleven, surrounded by people you don’t know, _no_ , you have to add to that pressure by having parents say things like ‘If you don’t get sorted into Gryffindor, I’ll disown you’ or ‘If you don’t get into Ravenclaw, I won’t love you anymore’. Like, _no_ ,” she said, horrified. “Why would a parent ever even say it as a joke? I would _never_ tell my kid something like that, because if anything, I’m the kid’s mother, I’ve had them in my womb for eight to nine months, then, raised them for eleven years, I should know them better than the sorting hat,” she said passionately, waving her hand around for emphasis. “I would still love my kid to bits no matter what house they got in, because, at the end of the day, it doesn’t fucking matter, because he or she is still my kid and I’m still their mother, dammit. I know they’re amazing, because I gave birth to them.”

By the time she finished her little rant, she was huffing.

“So, no,” she said breathlessly in a much more calm tone, “if you want future generations to be free of this kind of negative stereotypes and prejudice, abolishing Hogwarts Houses seems the easiest and fastest solution in my opinion. You could still reintroduce them in a decade or so, but you would have to educate people on how negative stereotypes and prejudices work and that takes time and effort … and who knows, maybe people will appreciate the change over time, especially students who won’t have to worry about upholding family name by being sorted into a certain House.”

“Point taken,” said Voldemort, amused. It was truly fascinating seeing just how passionate she could get about things.

“Then, after abolishing the Hogwarts Houses, I would make Hogwarts into a day-time school,” continued Aya in a no-nonsense voice. “Don’t worry; it would still be a boarding school for orphans or students who don’t have loving guardians. However, for students who have a good relationship with their parents, there is absolutely no fucking logical reason why the kids should live at school and not just commute every workday, especially if you have someone who lives a walking distance away from school.”

“And how would they commute?” interjected Voldemort.

Aya gave him a blank stare. “Floo powder, Apparition, Portkey, broomstick, on foot if they live close enough,” she enumerated in a deadpan voice. “If the purpose of Hogwarts being a boarding school is to make kids more independent and responsible, well, you can still fucking achieve that by having your kids commute responsibly, but _no_ , it’s too much work for the parents to teach their kids how to get to school and back home safely or to travel by wizarding means. Why invest time and effort into raising and teaching your child anything once they’ve turned eleven, when teachers at Hogwarts can do that instead,” commented Aya sarcastically.

“You know what I say to that?” she said emphatically. “If people already decided to have kids, they should act like parents and raise their kids to adulthood not until eleven. Sending your magical kid off to a boarding school for nine months a year is a lazy thing to do, and the parents wash their hands of any real parenting responsibility, because they force the teachers to assume that role for them and while teachers _are_ considered educators, they are _not_ parents or a substitute for them. That should _not_ be their role at all,” she ranted. “The same goes for muggles, by the way,” she added.

“Besides,” she huffed, “what parent would be okay with separating with their kid for nine months a year, when until Hogwarts they lived together night and day? The only parents who are okay with sending their kids to a boarding school are those who think their own children are a nuisance and only had them to continue the bloodline. Because let me tell you, Voldemort, no parent who actually wanted to be a parent would be okay with an arrangement like that and I can’t possibly be the only one who thinks like that, dammit. Because, as a mother who adores her kids to bits before they’re even born, I can’t fathom the idea of sending my children away at _eleven_ for education and only get to spend _three_ months a year at most with them. This is not Pokémon world, where children aspire to be Pokémon trainers and go off into the wilderness to be on their own. Like, if Hogwarts remains a boarding school by the time our triplets are eleven, Voldemort, I’m not sure my psyche would be able to handle the emotional stress caused by separation,” she told him, getting agitated.

She turned to him with an unnerving look. “If you say you’re okay with sending our kids to a boarding school at eleven and only get to see them three months a year, we’re going to have some serious problems, Voldemort,” she warned him.

“Of course not,” he said, a little too quickly for Aya’s taste. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that how you actually think or did you say it just because I said we would have a problem otherwise?” she insisted, her voice soft but threatening.

He sighed. “I may not feel like I should be a parent or if I’ll even be a good one when the babies get here, but it would feel wrong if after eleven years of having them around every day, suddenly I don’t get to see them in the mornings or evenings,” he elaborated and he was honest about it.

Her expression softened. “Good, because I really don’t want to send any of our children to a boarding school,” she said, feeling distressed again. “And, yes, I get that I can call them or FaceTime them, but it won’t be the same. I want to be able to hug them and kiss them. Even when Hogwarts becomes a day-time school, they will spend five to seven hours at school, but at least I’ll see them in the mornings before they go and then have them home in the afternoon and through the night.”

“And that’s just the wizarding families,” she exclaimed. “Imagine the shock the parents of muggleborns must feel, because not only do they have to deal with the fact their son or daughter is magical, but they suddenly have to accept the fact that the only school who can teach them how to control magic is a boarding school on the other side of the country.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how Hermione’s parents can be fine with her being absent for so long. I would lose it, I tell you.”

He rubbed her back soothingly.

“In the same vein,” she said, changing the topic slightly, “why is Hogwarts still the only magical school in Britain? Like, has no one ever thought of making things easier for British magical kids by opening schools in other parts of Britain like England, Wales and Northern Ireland? Why force someone from the other side of the country to go all the way to Hogwarts to get a magical education, when you could open a school an hour or two away from their home?” Her brain just couldn’t understand the logic behind it. “You don’t have to build castles like Hogwarts, if it’s a question of space and money,” she elaborated, “a much smaller building will do just fine.”

“On a similar note,” she added, after taking a sip of tea, “what is the point of having all students board the Hogwarts Express in London, when you could arrange it so the train makes several stops and collects students along the way? It particularly doesn’t make sense when you have students who live geographically much closer to Hogwarts than London. Imagine you have a student who lives, like, twenty minutes on foot from Hogwarts and instead of letting that student get to school, walking, you have them go to London, because tradition, and have them travel for nine hours just to get to the exact same point they were in the morning. If I was that student, there is no money or talks of tradition that would make me waste all that fucking time, travelling, when I could have spent twenty minutes on foot to get to school. I tell you, Voldemort, that shit makes no damn sense. Then again, in the five years that I’ve been in contact with wizardkind, when have they ever made any fucking sense?” she concluded, rolling her eyes.

“Just look at the Triwizard Tournament,” she exclaimed, waving her arm. “I don’t know why it only has to feature three schools, three legally adult students, and three tasks that take an entire school year to complete. Even muggle Olympic Games feature more sports and athletes than all Triwizard Tournaments together and they still manage to cover all the sporting events in a span of two weeks.” She gasped dramatically. “Which reminds me, Voldemort, the Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro are starting this Friday,” she said excitedly. “I have to watch them. I hope that we’ll be able to set everything up before they end, but if not, well, I’ll just look at live results for sports I’m interested in on my phone.”

She shook her head a bit.

“Anyway, what I was saying. Instead of having only three schools, competitors and tasks for an entire school year, you make it into a month-long event, where you let all magical schools of the world participate, with students of all ages allowed to compete in various magical sport-like events, like Quidditch, Wizards’ Chess, Duelling, Exploding Snaps, Gobstones, Magical Dodgeball, and you make age categories. I assure you that with how many students were interested in the Tournament this past year and how much disappointment there was among them for not being able to participate; they would _love_ this kind of change, because there wouldn’t be any number or age restrictions in place and the sports would definitely not be life-threatening in any way.”

“Similarly, if you want British magical children to appreciate magic and learn about different wizarding cultures and customs, why not have an educational exchange program like muggles have. It’s called Erasmus plus. The only thing anyone interested in studying abroad would have to be careful about is the language barrier, so, if someone wants to study abroad in a non-English speaking country, well, either Hogwarts should offer language classes or they should go to language schools. The duration of the exchange could last from a week to a year, depending on individual student’s desires and preferences.”

“Of course,” she breathed, “there’s a lot of bureaucracy involved, especially with underage students, because you need parental permission, from filling out application forms, to finding the suitable subjects that would best correspond to our school curriculum, arrange the living expanses abroad, arrange a coordinator In both schools, get the necessary credits and all that shit. But hey,” she huffed sarcastically, “if parents want their children to be independent early on in life, well, study abroad is a good way to become independent.”

“Also, before anyone is even allowed to teach, they should first get a teaching licence, a certificate that shows they are qualified to work with kids and teenagers, and know how to make lessons age appropriate, because not everyone is a genius,” she said firmly. “They need to learn through age and development-appropriate activities; because you can’t teach a first-year student in the same way you would a seventh-year student for the simple fact that they are at different developmental stages.”

Huffing, she took another sip. Voldemort regarded her with a pensive frown.

“Aya,” he called, “with your knowledge of child development, have you ever considered becoming a teacher or even a Headmistress?”

She scrunched up her face. “No,” she snorted, “and honestly I don’t want to be a teacher like Severus or McGonagall where I would have to teach only one subject my entire career, and while I appreciate that you would entrust such responsibility to me,” she said referring to his proposition of making her the Headmistress of Hogwarts, “I don’t want it.”

“Then what _do_ you want to do?” he asked her.

“I want to be a housewife and a stay-at-home mum,” she said bluntly. “I want to be with our kids, cook, clean, take care of you,” she caressed his cheek lovingly and smiled brightly at him, “of the house. That’s the kind of job I want to do for the rest of my life.” She took a deep breath. “However, if I absolutely _had_ to have a hobby, then after I finish Hogwarts, I plan on becoming a certified yoga and meditation instructor and offer yoga and meditation classes to students to help them with school stress. Maybe in a few years, if I have the time and the will, I would like to study psychology, and become a school counsellor and offer professional help to problematic and abused students or students with learning disabilities.”

“What about people with mental disorders?” inquired Voldemort, finishing his tea.

“That’s clinical psychology and I’m not interested in it,” she grimaced. “First, because it takes about a  fucking decade to even get the right qualifications to treat people with mental disorders, but also because, even if I waste a decade of my life studying clinical psychology, I would still feel completely incompetent to treat someone with schizophrenia, obsessive compulsive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, dissociative identity disorder, addiction, or any other disorder. Second, while some mental disorders can be genetically inherited, like schizophrenia, most of other disorders concerning the human mind are a result of traumas in childhood or later on in life, like rape, different kinds of physical or psychological abuse, death of loved ones, wars, so, I would want to help children have better, brighter and healthier futures as adults. Third, I would probably have to try all sorts of treatments and therapies myself first and, honestly, I have so many defence mechanisms in place since I was like five or six years old that if a psychologist or a psychiatrist picked up on any of them and started taking them apart, I would probably suffer an identity crisis. So, no, no clinical psychology for me,” she told him honestly.

“Defence mechanisms?” he inquired with a frown.

“I don’t recall the exact definition or all the different types of mechanisms at the top of my head,” said Aya nonchalantly, “but, essentially, it’s how our mind protects itself from harmful and stressful situations and stimuli to keep one’s sanity in check and not suffer from mental or emotional break-downs.”

“I see,” he said grimly. “And you say you have many of those mechanisms in place?”

“Well, yes,” she huffed as if it was obvious, “how else do you think I still haven’t lost my shit entirely despite how fucked up I am? I mean, while I was at the Dursleys, I learnt pretty early what my place in the household was and what the consequences would be if I tried to question or defy the established dynamic.”

Voldemort’s eyes darkened. “Did the muggles harm you?” If they did, he would hunt them down and gut them after having tortured them slowly and painfully.

She thought for a moment, trying to recall a moment of physical abuse. “Not really,” she said, furrowing her brow in thought, “maybe once or twice, but nothing serious, mostly because I simply made sure never to do things that would cause my relatives to lash out like that at me.”

Voldemort wasn’t happy with the explanation. “And what was the dynamic like when you were living with your muggle relatives?” he insisted.

“Well,” she let out in a loud and heavy sigh, trying to be as nonchalant about it as possible, “I learnt very quickly that I would never have the same kind of status and value as my cousin Dudley. I didn’t understand why and when I tried to protest about the unfairness of the treatment or question the reasoning behind it, my aunt and uncle made it very clear that not only was I never going to be as precious as Dudley to them, but also that I was not allowed to express my opinion, ask questions, make loud noises, or speak unless spoken to. Not wanting any kind of punishment, I just accepted things as they were and never questioned them or complained. After all, they didn’t starve me, I had my own room, my own clothes, though few, I even got presents and money for tutoring Dudley. Since I didn’t know any better, I convinced myself that I was okay, that I was fine with how things were, that my life was amazing, because I kept telling myself things could’ve been worse, and they could have been, but they weren’t, because I was constantly making sure they never got worse.”

She paused in her narration, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, before continuing. “I repeated those phrases _so_ _many_ times in my head that when I received my Hogwarts letter I didn’t want to leave my little bubble of joy and paradise, because, by the time I was eleven, I firmly believed my life at the Dursleys was the best thing that I would ever experience in my entire life.”

She turned to him, a small smile adorning her lips.

“I’m glad to inform you I was extremely wrong about it and that I no longer think that way. In fact, if someone gave me the choice to visit my muggle relatives right now, I would simply decline the offer, because while not the worst childhood, I still don’t have good thoughts and feelings associated with them so, why put myself through the ordeal, if I can simply never see them again in my life. Especially, since, right now, I’m in the best possible place I could be mentally with you and the babies and my fathers and friends, and I’m not saying that to convince myself or anything, because compared to what I have and where I am now as a person, it’s like night and day. I look back on my life at the Dursleys and I would _never_ willingly go back to my room at 4 Privet Drive. Here, with you, my parents and friends, I can be myself, I can speak my mind, I can ask questions without constantly having to walk on eggshells or fear stepping on a mine in a minefield.”

She let out another loud and heavy sigh; this time it was of relief.

“I’m _so_ glad I gave into McGonagall’s insistent nagging to give Hogwarts a try, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met you or my fathers or my friends, and we definitely wouldn’t be expecting our babies now. I don’t know how different my life would have been had I grown up with my biological parents and, honestly, I don’t even want to know, what I do know is that I would not change a single thing about my life.” She cupped his face and nuzzled it, pressing their foreheads together. He in turn hugged her to him, his fingers sinking into her clothed flesh. “No amount of what-if scenarios will ever make me want to alter how I got to this point with you,” she assured him vehemently, her eyes watery. “And if my biological parents had to die for it to happen, then, I suppose I’m glad you killed them that night, because I don’t want to imagine a life without you as my husband and the father of my children and not being pregnant with our triplets at this moment.”

His throat constricted and he captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. She responded in kind with the same amount of urge and desperation to feel and taste him. When their lungs burned for air, they separated ever so slightly, just enough to breathe, but kept their foreheads touching.

“Anyway,” she breathed, hugging his shoulders, “if I go back to discussing my prospective hypothetical professional career, before I could even apply for University, I would have to get my GCSEs and A-levels and that just means more studying and less time with you and the kids. And, honestly, darling, between spending time with you and the kids and a professional career, I would choose you and the kids over studying and work any time.”

He smirked and let his hand rest on her thigh. “That’s good,” he said, making his way up her skirt to caress her ass and eliciting a content sigh from Aya. Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “Because if you considered something or someone else more important than our kids and me, we would have a serious problem.”

She giggled, recalling her own words to him from before, and pressed herself against his chest. “Never, darling,” she assured him, whispering seductively against his lips. “Nothing and nobody is ever going to outrank you and the kids in my heart and in my life.”

One of his arms grabbed her nape and pulled her forward. Their lips met in another blazing kiss, while his other hand slipped between her legs and caressed her pussy.

“I see you kept the plug in,” he said huskily against her lips, when they separated for air.

“I assumed you wanted me to wear it until you took it out yourself,” whimpered Aya, when Voldemort pulled out the plug, licked her pussy juices off and purred at the taste.

“You assumed correct, dearest,” he said mischievously, diving back in for another passionate kiss, discarding the plug on the table.

As they continued kissing, he lifted her up and placed her on the edge of the desk, then, positioned himself in between her legs. His hands roamed her back and thighs, tugging at the panties and sliding the straps of the dress off her shoulders. In turn, she rubbed and tugged at his robes to get to his skin and his cock. She undid his trousers at the same time he undid her bra, and as he tossed it to the side, she let his trousers fall and pool around his ankles, together with his underwear.

As they showered each other’s necks, shoulders and chests with kisses, Voldemort swept away the contents on his desk in one smooth swipe of his arm to make room for Aya. He took a few moments to appreciate the sight of her spread over his desk, her breasts and aroused pussy on display, her tempting summer dress pooled around her hips, by letting his lustful gaze roam her naked body, drinking in every detail, every curve. He traced her body with the tips of his clawed fingers, reminding himself Aya’s being belonged to him … and only him. That no one is ever going to have the privilege to see her naked or touch her.

As his claws scraped lightly against her skin, goosebumps erupted all over her skin and her nipples hardened. He leaned forward, gently licking and sucking on them, while he busied the other breast with his hand, gently kneading the soft flesh.

“Voldemort,” she let out in a moan.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the tingling sensation where his hot mouth engulfed her nipple. She let her head fall to the side and gently placed her forefinger between her teeth. Slowly, his mouth moved up her collarbone and neck, undoing the glamour he put in the morning to cover up his marks.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he hissed.

She turned her head, and looked at him through hooded eyes and with dilated pupils. The sight of her flushed cheeks and red and swollen lips paired with hickeys peppered all over her neck and his bite mark on her shoulder, made him growl deep in his throat.

“Mine,” he growled, his fingers digging possessively into her hips. “You are mine and mine alone.”

The possessive tone of his voice and the look in his eyes made her shiver with desire. “I’m yours, Voldemort,” she said breathlessly, reaching for his head. “Only yours.”

He nuzzled her nose for a bit, before catching her lips in a desperate kiss full of want and need. As their tongues danced with one another and their lips moved against each other, his fingers tangled in her hair, messing it up, and she wrapped herself around him with her limbs.

They both let out a contented sigh when he slowly sank into her tight heat. It was only several hours since they were together; but to them, it felt like an eternity had passed.

At first, he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, taking his time, enjoying how her pussy walls slowly gave way every time he pushed back into her and savouring her soft moans and whimpers along the way. When she begged him for a rougher and quicker rhythm and he himself felt the pleasure grow in his groin, he straightened himself, so he could have the perfect view of her filled and stretched pussy, her naked front and her face.

Grabbing her hips for support, he started thrusting hard and fast, making her moan. She gripped the edge of the desk to hold onto something, while her breasts bounced with every forceful push of Voldemort’s hips and breathy whimpers escaped her lips. Halfway towards their climax, he grasped her wrists and intertwined their fingers, pulling her hands to him, and when the bubble of joy and pleasure exploded into brilliant stars and fireworks behind their eyelids, shaking their entire beings, they called out each other’s names in a mixture of English and parseltongue.

He fell forward, kissing and hugging her to him, just as he emptied himself in her. She returned both gestures passionately; her pussy drinking every drop of cum her darling husband had to offer this time around greedily.

They stayed together even after they recovered their breaths and came down from their orgasmic high, basking in each other’s scent and warmth, nuzzling and exchanging gentle caresses and lazy kisses. However, when Voldemort started feeling sore in his lower back, he slowly pulled out, despite Aya’s protesting.

He knelt between her legs and observed her womanhood, taking in the smell and sight of her cum-filled pussy.

“You really like seeing your cum in my pussy,” she commented, amused, when he made a purring sound in his throat.

“You don’t seem to mind,” he returned, smirking, passing the back of his fingers along her wet folds. Her pussy twitched at the touch and a bit of his sperm pooled at her entrance.

She grinned. “I love it. Just like how I love it when you fill me up with your cock and cum. I really like how it makes me feel full and warm on the inside.”

Before a single drop could leak out, he reached for the plug, whispered a cleaning spell on it, licked her pussy in one long swipe, making her gasp, and then inserted the plug. “Now you will feel full and warm until we retire to bed,” he said cheekily, kissing and nibbling on her inner thighs.

She squirmed. “And aroused,” she added, slightly out of breath again.

He helped her sit up on the desk. “If we retire to bed early, I can take care of it tonight.”

She murmured satisfied, already looking forward to goodnight sex with her husband.

“You know,” she said, caressing his head, nuzzled into her abdomen, while he had his arms wrapped around her waist, “when I was heading to the local supermarket, I had a talk with your horcruxes.”

He tensed a bit. “And what did you talk about?”

“Well, when I made a comment about the plug making me all hot and bothered for sex with you, they seemed to think I would be permanently stuck with a vaginal plug, since you would always make sure I’m full of your cum. The only time I would actually go without a plug would be toilet breaks and when I would have to give birth naturally.”

He snorted. “As tempting as it sounds, I know it’s not practical,” he said, amused, “but I will have you wear it every now and then. Especially when I feel … extremely territorial … like today,” he informed her, lifting his gaze to hers, an intense look in his blood-red eyes.

She cupped his face and pulled him to her. “ _I love it when you go all caveman and territorial on me_ ,” she whispered in parseltongue, placing a brief and gentle kiss on his lips.

He chuckled, rising to his feet and pressing his forehead to hers. “ _I figured by how loudly you moan and how your pussy quivers and clenches around my cock when I fuck you hard_.”

She smiled. “ _True_ ,” she agreed, “ _but I also love it when we cuddle and you’re gentle with me_.”

“ _Me too_ ,” he admitted, rubbing his palms up and down her arms. “ _I like it when you shower me with affection and you cuddle me against your breasts._ ”

She giggled. “ _Well, you’re free to rest your head on my breasts anytime_ ,” she assured him, grinning, “ _and I’ll shower you with hugs and kisses whenever you want me to_.”

They nuzzled and kissed some more, before Voldemort summoned her underwear and helped her get dressed for dinner.

“Aya,” he said as he was hooking her bra. She mumbled to let him know she was listening. “Even though it’s unlikely for me to forget what we discussed earlier about things that bother you about the wizarding world and how you would change certain things,” he pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders, “I still think it would be best if you put everything we have and haven’t discussed yet about magical education on paper. Just to have it written down black on white.”

“Okay,” she said excitedly, facing him with a bright smile, “I’ll write a proposal of all the things I would change and how I would change them. I’ll even make sure to cite scientific literature and studies to back up my arguments,” she announced proudly and he chuckled at her enthusiasm. “When exactly should I have it written, darling?”

“Will two weeks be enough for you to write it and back it up with scientific findings?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her middle after sliding on her panties and smoothing down her skirt.

“Well, I do have to do some research and read some literature to refresh and expand my knowledge, so two weeks would be really cutting it close,” she said with a contemplative frown.

“A month then?”

“That’s more like it,” she grinned, hugged his neck and stepped on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his mouth.

When they were both decent and the mess in his office taken care of, they went downstairs to the dining room, where the family was already waiting for them. After dinner and a game of very casual Mikado, Voldemort and Aya retired to bed. There, Voldemort kept his word and took care of Aya’s itch caused by the plug, slowly and gently, until they fell asleep, tangled in each other’s limbs.

…

_4 August 2016, Riddle Manor_

The sound of _At Doom’s Gate_ from the 1993’s videogame Doom jolted them awake at 6:45. Aya quickly palmed at her nightstand to pick up her phone and turn off the alarm clock. Then, she snuggled back into Voldemort for another five minutes.

After those extra five minutes of cuddling, snuggling and sleepy kissing, they got up and went to the bathroom. After brushing their teeth and taking care of their physiological needs, they decided to take a quick morning bath, where they managed to sneak in a quick lovemaking session, before drying each other off and Voldemort volunteering to brush Aya’s hair and braid it.

There were a few knots to untangle, but otherwise, having Voldemort brush her hair felt so divine to Aya that she was getting drowsy all over again. When he finished braiding her hair in a classic braid, she was grinning from ear to ear as she inspected it in the mirror. Who knew Voldemort could style hair?

With thirty minutes remaining, Aya dressed in the same underwear and the same dress she was wearing the day before and the day before that. (She couldn’t wait to get a change of clothes and underwear from Grimmauld, because she might be into recycling clothes, but not _that_ much recycling.)

Before joining her parents and Barty in the dining room for a quick breakfast, Voldemort gave her the charmed parchment he mentioned to her, the one she should make sure her friends signed before she revealed any information about him to them. She accepted the parchment with a smile and put it in her bag together with her other belongings, Tom and Ramses.

At 7:55, they heard the carriage arrive. Outside, Sirius turned to Voldemort and held out his hand for a handshake. Voldemort looked at the offered hand, confused, but shook hands with his father-in-law nonetheless.

Sirius cleared his throat importantly and straightened himself to appear taller. “Severus and I will come again next week to check up on Aya and the babies, until then, thank you for your hospitality,” he said politely.

Voldemort inclined his head.

“Also, I wanted to let you know that,” he stopped, took in a deep breath and whispered to himself, “I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this,” before turning back to Voldemort and saying, “I don’t think you’re as bad as before and you seem to treat my daughter well,” in a clear voice.

“Thank you, I guess,” returned Voldemort politely. He wasn’t sure how to feel or react to Sirius’ words.

“However,” continued Sirius in a more ominous tone, squeezing Voldemort’s hand tightly, “should you ever harm or hurt her in any way, I will break every single breakable bone in your body, heal you, then break them all over again without actually killing you, because I don’t want to leave my daughter a widow and the children without their father.”

Before Voldemort could say anything to Sirius’ threat, Aya was already gasping loudly and dramatically, shielding him with her body. “No shovel-talking my husband, Papa Siri, because when I discovered _you two_ were involved, “she pointed to him and Severus, “I didn’t shovel-talk you.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, pup,” said Sirius defensively. “One can never be too careful with the history you two have, what with him trying to kill you as an infant and killing your parents.”

“Hey, I could say the same thing to you, then,” she exclaimed, pointing at him accusingly. “With the kind of history you and Severus have, what with you setting him up with Remus’ werewolf form and tormenting him for years.”

“At least I didn’t go around torturing and killing people,” countered Sirius indignantly.

“Oh, no, of course you didn’t, you just tormented them and called it pranking,” Aya pointed out sarcastically. “So, yeah, you and Voldemort have more in common than you think, Papa Siri.”

Sirius gaped at his daughter, then at Voldemort and Severus. “I can’t believe this,” he breathed, bewildered. “My own daughter is comparing me to Voldemort.”

Aya rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, it’s not the end of the world,” she deadpanned, “and besides, you should be honoured you have so many things in common with your son-in-law, it will make it easier for you two to bond, once he officially becomes my husband.”

Sirius’ face muscles were twitching.

“Aya,” intervened Severus, “we should probably go and leave it at that, before you end up breaking your father.”

“Okay,” she agreed and turned Sirius towards the carriage and began guiding him gently towards it. “To the carriage with you, Papa Siri.”

“Hey,” he exclaimed in protest, recovering from his earlier shock, and twisted his head in Voldemort’s direction, “I still have a few things I want to say to Voldemort.”

“You’ve said more than enough. Besides, you said you’ll come visit next week, well, you can finish telling him whatever you wanted to say to him then,” she said, shooing him into the carriage.

Voldemort didn’t say anything, but he felt immensely amused by the entire interaction. Having Aya defend him so passionately made him smile fondly at her, while warmth enveloped and spread inside his chest, filling it with indescribable amount of happiness.

He watched her stuff her father Sirius into the carriage, place her hands on her hips, a soft frown on her face, and let out a huff. Then, she turned to him and her frown melted into the most brilliant smile. This, coupled with the morning sun, made her look like a fairy and his breath hitched in his chest as his heart skipped a beat.

She ran to him and pecked him passionately on the lips. She giggled. “Okay, darling, I’m going now,” she told him excitedly, her eyes shining and smiling. “I just wanted to give you a see-you-later kiss and tell you to behave and take care of yourself, while I’m gone.”

He chuckled deeply. ”I will,” he assured her.

She smiled wide and placed a few more pecks on his lips. He smirked into their kisses and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Oh, and don’t skip lunch,” she said sternly. “If I hear from Winky or Barty that you didn’t eat anything while I was gone, I’m not going to be happy with you.”

“What if I don’t feel hungry?”

She sighed. “Then don’t eat.” She rubbed his chest. “I also don’t want you to force yourself, but it’s going to be a long one before I return for dinner in the evening, at least eat a plate of soup if nothing else.”

“I’ll try and eat something while you’re off doing your errands,” he promised in a sigh, which earned him another breath-taking smile and more kisses from his wife.

“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat and wriggling out of his grasp, “now I really have to go, I’ve already exhausted my last minute before departure.”

She hurried to the carriage, climbed inside, shut the door and as the carriage began moving, she was leaning out the window, waving at him and blowing him more kisses. He just stood at the front door with a serene smile, until the carriage disappeared from his sight.

His smile fell away and he sighed. His lips still tingled from their kisses, but felt incredible lonely. His arms and body already missed her softness and warmth. She barely just left, and he already felt lost without her. At least, this time around, he knew she would be back by dinner and that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone, but he still didn’t look forward to a day without Aya at the mansion. Even if they weren’t in the same room, he felt at ease simply knowing she was in the house, doing her own thing.

He stepped inside the mansion, which already felt dull, empty and overly quiet. He joined Barty in the living room, sagging into the sofa and letting out a loud and heavy sigh. Barty fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to say … or even if he should say anything.

He cleared his throat. “Can I do anything for you, my Lord?” he asked tentatively.

“Father, Barty,” he corrected him. “If I’m already going to blood adopt you, you might as well start calling me father.” He sighed again. “I should start getting used to it, before the triplets start calling me that.”

“Of course … father.”

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. As he continued to stare at the ceiling, a thought formed in his mind. “As for what we’re going to do,” he began, “I was planning on contacting a healer to fake the medical report for Aya, getting through a couple of reports and work some more on the curriculum, so you can look at it and start preparing for when you start teaching in September.”

Barty nodded.

“However, before that, we’re going to go to a muggle laboratory and get us tested for blood type. The sooner we find out if we are all compatible, the better. After that, we’ll go to Gringotts and inquire about possible effects pregnancy hormones and other components in the blood could have on the adoptee,” concluded Voldemort.

“Understood,” retorted Barty.

After transfiguring several napkins and buttons into muggle paper money and coins (in case they needed to pay before the laboratory staff took their blood samples), casting a glamour on themselves, and making sure their clothes didn’t look out of place for a muggle community, they went to the local health centre.

…

Since Little Hangleton wasn’t big, it didn’t take them long to get there. However, as soon as they walked into the waiting room and saw the group of sick and old people, they knew it was going to be a _long_ wait, before it would be their turn.

They barely even managed to find a place to sit and when they did, the old lady next to them addressed them. “Is this your first time here?” she asked them.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Barty.

“It shows,” she said sagely. “If you want to get into the laboratory, you have to get a ticket at the ticket machine, right next to the laboratory door,” she said, pointing her shaky and wrinkly index finger towards it.

Barty and Voldemort looked at the machine.

“And do you have to pay for the ticket?” inquired Barty.

“Oh, no, the ticket is free,” she assured them immediately, “it just tells you which number you are.”

“Number?” repeated Barty, confused.

“You see that monitor over there on the wall?” She now pointed at a blindingly bright rectangular white thing that had a giant, black number 26 on display. “It tells you which number is currently inside the laboratory. When it changes and if the number on the monitor matches the number on your ticket, then that’s your cue to enter the laboratory.”

Barty immediately walked up to the machine and pulled two tickets, number 58 for Voldemort and number 59 for himself. When he returned to his seat, the woman spoke to them again. “What brings you here? I hope nothing serious.”

“Ah, no, we are just curious about our blood type, that is all,” said Barty with a polite smile.

“Thank goodness you’re not here for health reasons. I suppose you are still quiet young to have all sorts of health problems. Say, how old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Hopefully you’ll get to age better than I did,” she said candidly and then proceeded to tell them her entire medical history.

She told them everything from the diseases and health conditions to all the operations she had so far, her dental prosthesis, and all the medicine she had to take daily for her blood pressure, her diabetes, her cholesterol, her heart and the list went on and on and on.

Voldemort kept rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, feeling irritated and itchy to cast a silencing charm at the woman, because she was driving him crazy with her incessant talking and causing him a massive headache … and it was barely nine o’clock in the morning. When the monitor number changed to 32, she finally left and both Barty and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Finally,” muttered Voldemort under his breath. “I thought she was never going to stop her ramblings.” Barty couldn’t agree more.

As they kept waiting their turn, due to the relatively small space, they inevitably listened in on other conversations. It would seem that muggle seniors competed with each other to see who was more ill, because they just kept talking about their latest doctor appointments and operations and check-ups and medicine and different body pains.

Another half an hour later, it was finally their turn. Fortunately, they didn’t have to pay until getting their results, which meant that after the nurse took their blood samples and processed them, they imperioed the woman to destroy their blood samples and any documentation she might have archived either digitally or in hard copy. Then, they obliviated her so she had no recollection of their faces or visit and simply walked out of the health centre with the only copy of their blood test results.

Barty was an AB+ and Voldemort was an AB-. Now, that they knew there would be no problem with donating and receiving blood, they apparated to Diagon Alley, which wasn’t as bustling as when Aya and he came there last.

They entered the bank and walked up to the same manager that attended him and Aya two days prior. Once they were inside Griphook’s office, Voldemort and Barty undid the glamours so everyone knew to whom they were speaking.

“Greetings, Goblin Griphook,” greeted Voldemort.

The goblin inclined his head reverently. “Lord Slytherin-Peverell-Gaunt, how can I be of service to you?”

“Aya and I are interested in blood adopting Mr. Barty Crouch Junior,” he said in a straightforward manner, motioning to Barty next to him. “However, there are some … questions we would like you to clear for us first.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

“Firstly, when I returned to my body, I used a combination of unicorn blood and snake venom in addition to human blood,” explained Voldemort. “Can these ‘impurities’ create problems during the ritual?”

The goblin chuckled awkwardly. “There haven’t been any similar instances in the past, but we would assume that any kind of impurity entering a human body can cause problems.”

“Can you perhaps purify the blood that will be used in the ritual to prevent that?”

“Most certainly,” assured him Griphook. “After acquiring the necessary amount of blood, we would purify it before adding it to the potion, but the purifying process has a fee attached to it, of course.”

“Excellent,” said Voldemort, satisfied. “Secondly, my … future wife is pregnant and besides the blood types, she’s been wondering if her being pregnant can cause problems. Especially her pregnancy hormones.”

The goblin let out another awkward sound. “Again, Lord Slytherin, you’re asking about something that has hardly ever occurred. Personally, I don’t recall when the last time a pregnant woman adopted either a baby, child, teenager or an adult was and what kind of consequences it had.” He sighed. “I would assume it wouldn’t have much influence, but you never know.”

“Alright,” said Voldemort. “Another thing,” he continued. “Since both Barty and I are presumed dead by the general public, I hope you understand we cannot file a legal request for adoption at the Ministry.”

The goblin’s eyes widened. “You want us to perform the ritual illegally,” he stated.

“Exactly.”

“If the word gets out, the Ministry will be up in arms with us for it,” said Griphook shrewdly.

“Then, let’s make sure no one finds out, at least not until I take over the Ministry, of course,” said Voldemort lightly. “In the meantime, you can charge us a reasonable amount of money for your troubles.”

The gobbling smirked viciously. “I’m sure we’ll be able to negotiate a suitable price. When exactly did you plan to have the ritual done?”

“Between August 10th and August 14th,” retorted Voldemort, “I still have to discuss it with Aya.”

“Very well.” The goblin inclined his head reverently again. “We’ll wait for you to contact us either in person or through owl, Lord Slytherin.”

They left the bank shortly after, with their disguises in place.

When they entered Diagon Alley again, the number of people had increased, but a quick look at the time told him that Aya wouldn’t be arriving for another hour at the very least.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, he apparated away to Little Hangleton with Barty in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to hear what you thought about Aya's thoughts and opinions in this chapter. How much do you agree or disagree with her on the points she brought up in this chapter? Why do you agree or disagree with her? Would you go about those things in a different way personally? No matter the opinion, keep it polite. 😇
> 
> On another note, what did you think of Aya's boggart? Was there anything else that stuck out to you in the chapter? Something that made you laugh?
> 
> If you noticed any inconsistency, please let me know. 😇


	5. Marking Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aya meets up with her friends, learns about a new psychological torture technique, officially meets her husband's followers and marks her territory in front of everybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long chapter, so, take your time to enjoy and savour it until next one comes in two weeks. 🤗

“I can’t believe you compared me to Voldemort,” said Sirius, after she stopped waving through the window and sat down comfortably next to them.

She sighed and rolled her eyes at Sirius’ antics. “Oh, come off it, Papa Siri, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” she told him half-annoyed. “I was merely making an objective observation. Because if one takes a closer look at the behavioural patterns of the both of you and starts dissecting them, well, it’s not difficult to find quite a few similarities and parallels.”

“What similarities? What parallels?” insisted Sirius, affronted.

“For example, both of you have sadistic tendencies,” said Aya in a casual manner. “You both seem to have quite a bit of bloodlust going on and both can be very aggressive and destructive.”

Sirius gaped, looking completely lost. Seeing his expression, Aya added gently, “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with any of those traits, and I, myself, am also a sadist and can be extremely bloodthirsty and aggressive when provoked, especially whenever my loved ones are endangered, and Papa Sev also. What matters is how you channel that aggression, bloodlust, and sadism in a healthy way, just like you’ve been doing with yoga, meditation and playing violent videogames,” she said in an up-beat tone.

“Now,” she said importantly, “some would say that violent videogames make you even more violent, and in some extreme cases they do I suppose. However, with violent videogames, you can be as violent and as destructive as you want without causing harm to anyone, because instead of using real people to satisfy those sadistic needs, you use virtual, fictional characters, and you can maim, torture, and kill those as much as you want without feeling any sort of guilt or regret. Well, if you play a multiplayer with another person and you kill them inside the game, you might make them rage out of anger and frustration, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Besides, it’s good to have things in common, especially when the other person is going to be your extended family.”

“I guess so,” grumbled Sirius, pouting and crossing his arms.

“Also, just like you and Voldemort seem to have quite a few things in common, it would seem I share tastes with Papa Sev,” she announced happily.

“Such as?” Severus prompted her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Falling for the person that has hurt me at some point in the past, but has proven himself worthy, and now we absolutely adore each other, just like you gave a chance to Papa Siri to prove his worth to you and now you can’t seem to live without each other,” she pointed out, smiling from ear to ear.

“Granted,” she said a moment later; a thoughtful look on her face, “Voldemort hasn’t really hurt me much beyond attempting and failing to kill me once, while Papa Siri tormented you for years in addition to attempting but failing to kill you, but the point that I was trying to make still stands.”

Both Severus and Sirius looked at her, gobsmacked.

“Okay, let’s not talk about this anymore,” said Sirius, grimly.

“Agreed,” grinned Aya smugly.

After a few minutes of silence, Sirius recalled something he wanted to ask Voldemort. “You know, I forgot to ask your husband something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Remus. Now that Voldemort knows he’s a werewolf and has Barty watch him closely, well … I thought we should let Remus know what’s going on,” he said tentatively.

“I’ll ask Voldemort about it, if I don’t forget it what with my occasional brain farts and senior moments, but I can’t promise that he’ll agree.” She grimaced sympathetically. “He’s already cranky and averse to me informing my friends about my relationship with him and the warding team from Gringotts coming to our house tomorrow, because more people knowing means more danger of being exposed.”

Sirius let out a resigned sigh. “I know, but it’s also not fair to Remus not knowing that Barty is basically going to spy on him to make sure there are no incidents. We may not spend as much time together as we did when we were at school, but he’s still my friend. I can’t do him like that,” said Sirius, exasperated. “And who knows, maybe if Remus joins the cause and teams up with Barty, Voldemort can have three spies at school keeping an eye on Dumbledore, one who teaches Potions, one who teaches History and one who teaches Defence.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Siri,” she assured him gently. “I know it wouldn’t be fair to Professor Lupin. He’s a cool teacher and he’s not a bad person, it’s not his fault he’s a werewolf, and if they work together fully aware of their identities and roles, in addition to spying, Barty can learn some teaching tips from him and vice versa, after I equip Barty with all those articles about teaching children and adolescents.”

Talking about Barty reminded her of another thing. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she began, “if everything turns fine with the blood types and a few other things, Voldemort and I are going to blood adopt Barty.”

Her fathers just stared at her for a while, processing recently revealed information.

…

The carriage first stopped near 12 Grimmauld Place to drop off her fathers, then, after hugging and exchanging kisses with her fathers, the carriage headed towards the Leaky Cauldron.

She was running a bit late due to the detour to Grimmauld Place, but a few minutes of tardiness was no reason for concern. As soon as she entered the establishment, she spotted her group of friends. They were talking, Hermione glancing at the clock on her phone, probably considering calling her or sending her a text message to inquire where she was.

She stealthily approached them. “Hey everybody!” she greeted cheerfully, startling them a bit.

They turned their heads towards her as one.

“Aya!” exclaimed Hermione, Susan and Hannah and threw their arms around her, engulfing her into a giant hug. Aya staggered a bit, but reached out as well, giggling and smiling.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the twins in unison, playfully shaking their heads in disapproval and crossing their arms.

“What’s this Aya?” said Fred haughtily.

“You’re four minutes late,” said George, pointing at his wrist.

“Shame on you.”

“Hermione was ready to text you if you were any later than this.”

Aya laughed. “What can I say?” she said rhetorically, playing along. “Tardiness can happen even to the best of us.”

“You’re not the only one who was running a bit late,” commented Luna in her dreamy voice, glancing at the twins.

There was a look of betrayal on their faces. “One minute, Luna,” they spoke together. “We were late by one minute.”

“You were still late,” deadpanned Daphne.

They gasped melodramatically and grabbed their chests.

“Come on.” Ginny, who was standing next to Neville, rolled her eyes. “Whether it’s a minute or four, it’s not like it matters that much. What matters is that we’re all gathered to do our shopping.”

“Exactly,” agreed Hannah. “Besides, I don’t even know why you’re here, when you’ve already graduated from Hogwarts,” she pointed out.

“Weren’t you busy with setting up your joke shop?” added Susan.

“It’s true that we are no longer students of Hogwarts, but we can still offer some help and advice to you when choosing your N.E.W.T. subjects,” replied Fred.

“As for our joke shop,” took over George, “we are adding a few finishing touches, but otherwise, it is ready for opening. Which means,” he said importantly, reaching into his inner robe pocket and pulling out seven envelopes, one for Aya, Hermione, Victor, Hannah, Susan, Daphne and Astoria, “we are opening soon,” he declared. “In fact, we’re opening our shop in four days, on August 8th at two in the afternoon.”

He handed out the official invitations to their respective addressees. “Hermione, an extra invitation for you if you wish to invite your Bulgarian boyfriend, Victor Krum,” he said when he handed two envelopes to her, “and you, Ginny, don’t need an invitation since you’re our sister.”

“Damn right I don’t need an official invitation to come to my own brothers’ opening ceremony of their business,” she said haughtily, “I would be pissed if you had one ready for me.”

“Congratulations, Fred, George,” said Aya, smiling wide and walking up to them to give them a quick congratulatory one-armed hug.

They returned the gesture. “It wouldn’t have been possible without you,” they said. “You probably also don’t need an invitation, because you’re our investor, but it felt right to make it official anyway.”

“What about me?” interjected Neville, who, like Ginny, was empty-handed. “Is there no invitation for me?”

Ginny immediately hugged his arm. “You don’t need an invitation, sweetheart,” she said sweetly, smiling brilliantly at him, “since you’re my date for that day anyway.”

“Sweetheart? Date?” said Aya, a naughty expression on her face. “Have I missed something since our trip to Devon?”

Ginny snuggled closer to Neville and he wrapped an arm around her. “Neville and I are dating,” she announced proudly. “I confessed to him on the last night of the trip and, well, now we’re going out.”

The girls let out a chorus of excited squeals and proceeded to congratulate the couple, which reminded Aya that she had to do a few announcements too. However, her news could wait until after they were done shopping.

“And are there going to be news reporters at the opening?” asked Aya instead.

“No, not really,” said Fred.

“We only submitted a notice to The Daily Prophet,” added George. “It should be printed in tomorrow’s issue.”

Aya nodded, relieved. If she wanted to attend the ceremony with Voldemort, they needed to stay out of the spotlight and newspapers.

To celebrate that Neville and Ginny had become a couple, in addition to Neville and Hermione becoming sixth-year prefects for Gryffindor and Hannah becoming the sixth-year prefect for Hufflepuff, they sat down at one of the larger tables at the pub for refreshments.

While they waited and drank, Daphne, Neville, Hannah, Hermione, Susan and Aya were discussing the issue of their N.E.W.T. subjects.

Daphne, who was interested in foreign languages and wizard archaeology, was focussing on Ancient Runes, Ancient Studies, Defence, Charms and Potions, since ancient places were riddled with nasty curses to prevent people with nefarious purposes from entering or desecrating them.

Neville, who was interested in healing his parents, was aiming to become an herbalist, thus he would be primarily taking Potions and Herbology.

Hannah wasn’t really sure what she wanted to do just yet, but she was considering opening up her own beauty business, so she only really needed to specialise in Herbology and Potions to make her own skincare products and make-up. Although, Alchemy sounded useful too, especially if she also got interested in making her own jewellery line as well.

Hermione wanted to work with books, period. Either as a librarian, a shop assistant in a bookshop or a curator, maybe even as a translator since she was interested in foreign languages, it didn’t really matter to her, as long as she could be surrounded by books and their smell. Therefore, she would definitely be taking Ancient Runes and Charms.

Susan was going to follow her aunt’s example and go into wizarding law. For that, she was going to take History, Defence, Charms, Transfiguration and Potions, since people in law enforcement and making had to be well-rounded people.

Aya on the other hand felt stumped. The only reason she needed to pick at least a few subjects was so she could get a diploma that said she finished her magical education and nothing else. She supposed she could choose subjects based on what she thought would be useful to her as a mother and homemaker, because other than that, she didn’t really need any specific education. Therefore, she ended up picking Potions, Charms, Defence, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, though she was probably pushing it with the last one. It probably wasn’t very wise to pick five N.E.W.T. subjects when she was having triplets, but she would manage … somehow. With good time management, anything could be possible … and she wasn’t talking about Time-Turners. It’s not like she was aiming for all Outstandings at this level anyway (maybe Potions, because otherwise Papa Sev just might hex her). It would certainly feel nice to ace the exams, but she liked to think she was a realist and it was more likely for her to get Es and maybe even an A or two. As she said to Voldemort, between studying and her children, she would always pick her children.

After they finished their drinks and picking their N.E.W.T. subjects, they went to Diagon Alley, which was already bustling with adults, children and teenagers alike.

Their first stop was Madam Malkin’s, where they got the required amount of apparel for their uniforms. Aya didn’t really see the point in getting her school uniform since she would not attend Hogwarts anymore, but her perverted mind could find a use or two for the short school skirt and button-down blouse and the school tie. Maybe she could convince Voldemort to role-play as a strict teacher ‘punishing’ his naughty student during detention or a perverted teacher trying to ‘educate’ his young, naïve and innocent student about human anatomy and reproduction. However, if she wanted to fit into her school uniform, they would have to role-play it soon because otherwise, they won’t be able to do it properly until after her body returned to normal, and that will take at least a year, if not more.

After clothes, they went to buy the stationary items and other equipment based on the subjects they have chosen. Except for the Potions equipment and ingredients, Aya really didn’t need any parchment or quills since she preferred to write with muggle pens and pencils into muggle notebooks anyway, and when she and Voldemort managed to get the electricity running at the manor, well, she was going to get herself a laptop and use Microsoft Office. Therefore, she got the bare minimum of wizarding stationary items.

They left the schoolbooks for last since those were going to be the heaviest to carry. Since everyone had a different set of subjects, they also got different schoolbook sets and different amounts of books. As Aya looked at her pile, she almost let out a sigh. Why was she doing this to herself? Although, she supposed it could have been worse than it was.

Just before they went to the till, Aya spotted a very interesting book on knitting, sewing and embroidery. It was called: ‘ _More than Knitting, Sewing and Embroidery’,_ and beneath the title, there were a couple of bold statements: _‘Protect your loved ones and yourself against curses, hexes, jinxes or something as mundane as low temperatures, rain and mud. Make your clothes sturdy, stainless and indestructible with this complete guide on how you can improve the quality of your clothes by imbuing magic into them.’_

Intrigued, Aya leafed through the book a bit to get a better understanding of what the book was claiming and just from the contents page and a few photos, she knew she wanted and needed that book in her life. She promised Voldemort to knit him a few articles of clothing on his birthday and now that she was going to have babies, she was going to knit them hats, blankets, booties, scarves, gloves and sweaters. Besides knitting, she was also going to try her hand in sewing and embroidery because it looked beautiful and useful, and if she could somehow make the clothes water, oil, fire, mud or even spellproof in the process, all the better.

She added the book to her stack.

They finished getting everything school related by two. Starving and craving some fish burger, chicken nuggets with some Sweet’n’Sour sauce and chips, Aya suggested they go to the nearest fast food restaurant. Since it would be on the muggle side of the city, it would offer a little bit of privacy and anonymity to discuss the delicate nature of the news she had to tell them.

Once everyone had their own fast food order, they sat down at one of the large tables in a corner, behind a partition. As they began to eat their lunch, Aya was trying to find the right way and time to tell them everything she thought they needed to know to comprehend the basics of the situation.

After a bite of her Filet-o-Fish and a couple of fries dipped into the Sweet’n’Sour sauce, she cleared her throat tentatively.

“Guys,” she began cautiously, “I have some news to share with you.”

They all looked up at her in different stages of chewing, biting and swallowing.

“Luna already knows what’s going on, but the rest of you don’t.”

“Okay, Aya,” said Hermione carefully, “your tone and the way you’re talking makes it seem like it’s something bad.”

“You’re not dying or anything like that are you?” gasped Hannah, horrified.

Aya let out an amused giggle, “No, Hannah, I’m not dying, but I can’t say if it’s good or bad either, because that’s something you’re going to tell me,” she concluded with a serious expression.

“Okay, Aya, now you’re starting to scare us,” commented Susan, looking slightly on edge, her crispy garlic mayo chicken wrap completely forgotten.

Aya sighed and pulled out the enchanted parchment Voldemort gave her in the morning. Together with a recently bought quill and an inkbottle.

“This,” she breathed, showing the parchment to her friends, “is an enchanted parchment. Allegedly, if you sign it, you then can’t reveal what I’m about to tell you to others, unless I give you permission to do it.”

Her friends wore confused frowns and looks.

“Wow,” said Neville, “whatever you have to tell us must be really delicate if you need your own friends to sign a secrecy contract.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she assured them, “but I’m not the only one who’s involved and if even the slightest bit of information gets into the wrong hands … it could have disastrous consequences.” She sighed. “As a sneak peek, I suppose I can tell you that, while I’m going to continue and finish my Hogwarts education, I’m not going to actually be at Hogwarts for my sixth and seventh years.”

As soon as the words and their meaning sank in, her friends, mostly Ginny, Hermione, Hannah and Susan, almost flipped. “What?! Why?” they exclaimed, flabbergasted, their mouths hanging open in shock and confusion.

“That’s something I can only reveal to you after you have signed the parchment,” she told them resolutely.

Immediately, they all signed the parchment one after the other, starting with Hermione and ending with Luna, though Aya wasn’t sure why she signed it if she already knew everything anyway.

“Okay, now that we’ve all signed it, please, tell us why you’re not going to attend Hogwarts anymore,” said Hannah exasperatedly.

“First, I need you to calm down,” she said in a quiet and soothing voice. “Second, when you react to things I’m going to tell you, make sure not to be too loud. After all, we’re in public; people can still hear us, so, sh.” She pressed her index finger to her lips.

“Fine,” agreed Hannah impatiently, “now will you tell us already or not?”

“I suppose I should start by telling you that I’m pregnant … With triplets.”

All of her friends’ eyes widened to the point they looked like they were about to pop out of their eye sockets, except Luna’s, she continued to eat her Cheeseburger with fries completely unperturbed.

“What?!” they whisper-yelled.

“What do you mean you’re pregnant?” demanded Hermione in a harsh, but hushed tone.

“When did it happen?” wanted to know Ginny.

“Are you at least going to get married before the babies are born?” inquired Daphne.

“Does the babies’ father know that you’re pregnant?” interjected Neville.

“I think that–” began Fred.

“The most important question here is –” continued George.

“Who is the father,” they concluded in unison, wiggling their eyebrows mischievously.

Aya took a deep breath. “Okay, first,” she turned to Neville, answering his question, “yes, the babies’ father knows about the babies and although it was a shock for him at first, and he still feels incompetent to be a parent, I believe he has gotten used to the idea that he’s going to be a father.”

She turned to Daphne. “Second, yes, I’m getting married before the triplets are born; in fact, we already have a wedding date, December 21st of this year. You are all invited, of course,” she said casually. “Now, before I reveal the identity of the father, I think I should tell you when it happened and the circumstances.”

“Please do,” huffed Susan sarcastically.

“It happened on June 24th, after I grabbed the Cup. I know you have June 25th as the date when the last Triwizard task took place,” she added as soon as she saw the furrowed brows, “but my future husband really needed to see me in person for something and it had to be done in secret. So, he made the Cup into a portkey and put all the people who were at the task, under a freezing spell and a mass memory modification charm to cover up the fact that I was absent for twenty-four hours. The sex was unplanned. It just kind of happened.”

While her female friends (except for Luna) gaped incredulously at her, the twins looked impressed with Voldemort’s stunt. They were even curious to know if he would be interested in doing business with them.

“So, he’s not a student at Hogwarts?” asked Hannah.

“No, he’s not a student, and he’s also not a teacher,” she said calmly, “but he _is_ an older man.”

The twins gasped.

“Could it be, Forge?” said Fred dramatically, with a hand on his chest.

“I think it is, Gred,” returned George, copying his brother’s gesture.

“I can’t believe she found him,” sniffed Fred, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

“Me neither,” agreed George, also wiping away imaginary tears.

“You know who she’s talking about?” grimaced Daphne.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” they said together.

The others exchanged looks, before answering in a chorus. “No.”

“The father of Aya’s babies –” began Fred.

“And her future husband –” continued George.

“Is none other –”

“Than –”

“A Demon Lord,” they concluded dramatically.

Aya burst into laughter, clutching her stomach, while the others weren’t sure if the twins were serious or joking.

“I suppose he does share quite a lot in common with a Demon Lord, appearance and attitude wise,” commented Luna, sipping on her fizzy orange juice.

“Oh, come on,” snapped Ginny impatiently, “I know she said a Demon Lord was her type, but it’s not like she met and had sex with an actual demon. So, tell us who it is already.”

As all eyes expectantly turned to her, Aya collected herself and cleared her throat. Now came the most difficult part. Gathering all of her courage, she inhaled deeply and said, “It’s Voldemort,” before squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself for backlash.

She knew many of her friends have lost important people because of him, but she hoped her falling for Voldemort wouldn’t push them away. When there was nothing but silence, she carefully cracked one eye open to take in their reactions. It looked like they were frozen … even the twins. The gentle slurping sound from Luna’s end was the only sound at the table.

For some reason their stunned silence was even worse than any outrage she was expecting. “Go on, say something,” she pleaded. “Even if it’s to question my intelligence and sanity or saying what a terrible person I am for falling in love with a man like Voldemort, just say something.”

Susan was the first one to recover. “And what do you want us to say?”

“Anything,” she whispered with her heart in throat and an iron fist squeezing her stomach.

“Well, now we know why you wanted us to sign the parchment,” deadpanned Daphne.

“It was the Dark Lord’s idea actually,” Luna chimed in.

“How did you and You-Know-Who even happen?” wanted to know Hannah. “I mean you must have been in contact with him prior to the third task; it’s not as if he just randomly decided to summon you to his side and for you two to just end up having sex.”

“I exchanged letters with him during my fourth year,” confessed Aya, “but I’m not going to disclose any information of what was said in the letters. Just know that it started polite and official and it ended up being casual with flirtatious undertones.”

“You do remember that he killed your parents and also tried to kill you too, right?” pointed out Ginny.

“Yes, I do, and I don’t care. I know that in the past he did horrible things and that he’s hurt and killed a lot of people, but I love him regardless.”

“It could’ve been anyone else, why him?” inquired Neville.

A melancholic smile grazed her lips. “That’s the thing, Neville,” she said softly, “it couldn’t have been just anyone. It _has_ to be him. I don’t want to be with anyone but him. He’s everything I ever wanted and imagined my dream man to be. He’s my soulmate.”

Her admission caused another wave of silence, where her friends exchanged unsure looks.

“If you two had sex,” said Fred gently.

“Then that means he’s back?” finished George for him.

“He has a body, yes.”

“And will he continue where he left off?” Susan’s stern expression reminded Aya of her aunt, Amelia.

“He won’t start another war if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assured them all, “and he won’t kill people indiscriminately. However, he will take over the wizarding Britain eventually and I’m going to help him.”

It was evident that her friends weren’t quite sure how to feel about that particular statement, but she continued talking nonetheless.

“We are still working on what we want to change and how we want to change it to make it better, but hopefully we will manage to sort everything out in a year, possibly two.”

“And how is he treating you?” asked Hermione, changing the direction of the conversation slightly.

A dreamy and goofy grin appeared on her face and her eyes filled with love, when she recalled her moments with Voldemort. “Amazingly,” she sounded like she was on cloud nine. “I have absolutely nothing to complain about.”

Witnessing the adoration and happiness in her eyes and voice made some of the scepticism in her friends vanish. They still had their reservations about Voldemort as a political figure, but as long as he treasured and cherished Aya, they didn’t have anything against him as Aya’s husband.

“Are you still living at your parents’ house or have you moved to his house already?” asked Daphne.

“I moved to his house already,” admitted Aya, but decided to leave the name and the location of the manor a secret for now. “I’m getting a few things from Grimmauld after we finish here to take it to our home.”

“And are you going to have a baby shower?” interjected Hermione, with a hopeful voice and sparkly eyes.

Aya giggled. “I don’t know, maybe, but it would have to be around winter holidays and I also have to talk with my husband to see if it’s okay with him to have guests over at the manor.”

As they finished their lunch discussing the date of the baby shower and all the fun parenting games they could do, together with how exactly she learnt about her pregnancy and that she was going to have triplets. They even started asking about the wedding and her dress. At that, the twins teased Aya if she was even going to find a suitable wedding dress with how round and big she was going to be by the end of December, since she was due to give birth through C-section on February 24th. For that, Ginny narrowed her eyes at them.

When they were about to part ways, Aya finally dared to ask them. “So,” she began carefully, “we’re still friends even if I’m marrying Voldemort and having kids with him and helping him take over the magical Britain?”

“Oh, Aya,” they breathed as one, “of course we are still your friends. It will take more than you marrying the Dark Lord, having his children and taking over the wizarding Britain for us to stop being your friends.”

She giggled nervously and her eyes misted, as she let them engulf her in a big bear group hug.

…

She arrived at Grimmauld Place with the carriage around twenty past three. The first thing she did, after greeting her fathers again, was charge her phone, because the battery was just barely hanging on at 2%.

While her battery charged, she started gathering her clothes, all of her underwear, socks, and shoes, together with her personal hygiene items and her other personal belongings. Kreacher helped her and while they were packing she was telling him about the manor and Winky, who was going to be his colleague. He seemed giddy and happy at the prospect of helping her and Winky at the house and with the babies. His good humour and enthusiasm made her smile fondly at the old, wrinkly house elf. However, as she looked at his ‘uniform’, she remembered she needed to convince him to let her dress him in nicer-looking summer and winter uniforms, which are also going to be comfortable to wear, without him panicking she was trying to release him, because that dirty, old pillowcase just wasn’t good enough for Kreacher.

She was done by 17:25. Unplugging her phone, she let Kreacher take her stuff to the carriage and put it at the back. Then, saying bye-until-next-time to her fathers, she joined the elf in the carriage and waved to her parents just like she waved to Voldemort in the morning.

…

Almost three hours and a half later, she arrived in front of the Riddle Manor.

After thanking the coachman for his service, time and patience, Kreacher, who was carrying her things, and she went inside, where Voldemort and Barty were already waiting for her in the foyer.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, as soon as she saw her husband, a radiant smile on her face. She hurried to greet him by pouncing on him and enveloping her limbs around his waist and neck, and giving him a passionate kiss, which he responded in kind, with his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him.

Barty, for his part, averted his eyes awkwardly.

“I’m home,” she announced in a whisper, their foreheads joined and her arms still around him.

“Welcome back,” he whispered back, nuzzling her face, a small smile on his lips as her scent surrounded him, calming and reassuring him.

“Hello to you too, Barty,” she greeted him, when Voldemort and she separated.

He greeted back and as she moved to the side to let Kreacher and Voldemort see each other so she could introduce them, Kreacher’s eyes widened and filled with fear. His grip on her luggage failed, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud. Even Voldemort’s frame went rigid when recognition sparked in his blood red eyes.

Their reactions confused Aya. Have Voldemort and Kreacher already met? If they did, it wasn’t a good experience, especially for Kreacher. When he began shaking violently, she immediately went to him and crouched to his eye level.

“What’s wrong, Kreacher?” she asked worriedly, her hand on his fragile shoulder. He just stared at the floor, shivering.

She looked between him and her husband. “Go ahead to the dining room, darling, I’ll join you in a while,” she told him.

Voldemort said nothing, only nodded stiffly and left the foyer with Barty. She in turn grabbed Kreacher’s hand in hers and gently guided him to the living room, where she sat down on the sofa and pulled him into her lap as if he were a child, threading her arms around him protectively.

“Okay, Kreacher, now that we’re alone, can you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked him in a low and gentle tone. “Why did you react like that to Voldemort? Have you met him before?”

Kreacher nodded. “Kreacher has met the Dark Lord before, back when Master Regulus was still alive and joined the Dark Lord.” There was a faraway look in his eyes.

Her eyes widened. “Sirius’ brother was a Death Eater?”

“Yes, Mistress,” nodded Kreacher. “Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord very young, barely sixteen, full of pride and hope and illusions of better future for wizardkind. One day, the Dark Lord told Master Regulus that he needed a house elf. Master Regulus, eager to serve, said to the Dark Lord to take Kreacher with him.”

“Where did Voldemort take you?”

“The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave. There, he had him drink a potion that made Kreacher feel lots of pain, see and hear very ugly things and be very thirsty. After the Dark Lord had finished with Kreacher, he left him there, thirsty and in pain.”

Aya’s chest ached hearing that. It hurt to know Kreacher had suffered by Voldemort’s hand, but it didn’t diminish or tarnish her love for Voldemort. She knew her husband had done horrible things and, from how he spoke when they were at the restaurant in Knockturn Alley, he didn’t seem proud of the kind of person he had become. She only hoped that things would be better from now on, because she didn’t want Kreacher to be afraid of Voldemort or feel resentment towards him, and she expected Voldemort to treat Kreacher with the same cordiality he treated Winky.

“And what happened after Voldemort left you there in the cave?”

“Kreacher drank from the lake, but was almost drowned by the creatures in the water. Kreacher remembered that Master Regulus told him to come back once Kreacher finished, and Kreacher apparated away back to Master Regulus. When Master Regulus saw how ill Kreacher looked and felt, he didn’t like it. He wanted to know what happened and Kreacher told him about the cave and the Dark Lord’s locket.”

Aya furrowed her brow. Is that where the locket was originally? In a cave protected by a potion that caused immense pain, hallucinations and thirst? It would make sense, although, with how Voldemort gave the cup to Bellatrix for safekeeping, he might have decided to ask Regulus to keep it safe at Grimmauld Place, she thought begrudgingly.

“After that,” continued Kreacher, “Master Regulus looked very worried and he told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. Kreacher did as told. A little while later, Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord.”

Since Regulus was dead, she had a hunch about how things went down. However, she still let Kreacher speak and tell his side of the story as he witnessed and felt it.

“Kreacher took Master Regulus to the cave, to where the potion was and the locket.” The elf’s voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. “M – Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket that looked like the one the Dark Lord had,” he said, his body shuddering with his raspy sobs. “And he told Kreacher to take it and to switch the lockets, when the basin was empty. And he ordered – Kreacher to leave – without him. To go home – and never to tell his mother – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and after Kreacher swapped the lockets – he watched – Master Regulus – disappear beneath the water – and – when Kreacher returned back – he couldn’t – he couldn’t destroy the locket. He couldn’t complete Master Regulus’ last order to Kreacher.”

She hugged the elf to her chest and let him sob into her clothes, his bony arms hugging back. She had to squeeze her eyes and blink a few times to hold back her own tears. Her own throat felt constricted and she had to breathe in a couple of times to ease the tension in her muscles. More than the story itself, what broke her heart was seeing the effect that it left on Kreacher.

She gently rocked him and pressed a few kisses to his head, not saying a word. It took him a few minutes to calm down.

“Don’t wipe your tears and snot with your hands or the pillowcase. Here, use a handkerchief,” she said, offering him a paper one. He accepted it, dried his cheeks and loudly blew his nose. She smiled gently. “Do you feel better now that you were able to tell me what happened to your Master Regulus?” He nodded and sniffed. “I’m glad,” she said with a bright smile, patting his head and back.

“Kreacher,” she called him gently, “do you trust me?”

The elf nodded vigorously.

“Then, believe me when I say that this Voldemort is not the same man who forced you to drink that horrible potion. Is he a good person? No. No, he’s not, but he isn’t completely vile either,” she said with conviction. She sighed. “As for the locket, I know Regulus asked to destroy it, and just like I would feel sad if you and Voldemort didn’t get along, I would feel extremely sad if you tried to destroy the locket.” She took the locket into her hands and caressed it. “Because the locket protects me and my children. I’m sure Regulus would understand.”

The elf stared at the locket and then back at his Mistress. He felt conflicted. On one hand, he really wanted to obey Master Regulus, who showed him respect and kindness even when he didn’t have to, but on the other, Mistress Aya also treated him like a human being, as someone who had feelings and opinions. She treated him as if he was part of the family, not just a simple servant. She cared for his well-being. She worried over whether he was comfortable, tired, overworking himself, comfortable, warm or cold and then did everything to make him feel better. He didn’t want her to feel sad.

As he stared at her face, her eerie green eyes, fair skin and midnight-black hair, for a split moment, he could have sworn the images of Mistress Aya and Master Regulus blended into one, and in that moment, Kreacher made his decision. “Kreacher promises not to misbehave in front of Master Voldemort and not to destroy the locket.”

His kind Mistress Aya smiled and hugged him again. “Thank you, Kreacher,” she whispered gratefully into his head. “Thank you for understanding.”

A minute later, she called for Winky, who was going to show him around the mansion. As the elves disappeared with Aya’s luggage, she let out a heavy sigh and headed to the dining room, where her husband and future adoptive son waited for her.

She joined Voldemort on his left and immediately noticed his tense posture and grim expression. “And?” he prompted her stiffly, not even looking at her and pushing the food around the plate, “What did the elf tell you?”

She took his free hand in hers and caressed the back of it in a reassuring manner. “Nothing that has affected or lessened my feelings for you,” she told him, which managed to get some of the rigidness out of his frame, “but we’ll talk about it later in detail.” He nodded. “Now, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since my friends and I went to McDonald’s for lunch.”

She took a bite of the herb roasted beef and potatoes.

“How did it go?” he inquired, finally taking a bite of the food as well. Barty began eating too.

“Well, they’re still my friends, even after telling them that I’m marrying you and that I’m having kids with you and that I’m in love with you and that I‘m going to help you take control over the magical Britain and that you have them under a memory charm. So, I suppose it went better than I expected,” she said casually.

“Just how much did you tell them?” asked Voldemort, alarmed.

She furrowed her brow in thought. “I don’t think I’ve told them a lot, and if I did, I think I was pretty vague about it. Besides, I only told them all that after they have signed the parchment, so don’t worry.” She took another bite of her dinner, before asking him about his day. “And you? How did you spend the day without me?”

“Besides eating lunch, I also sent a letter to a healer to fake your medical report, I’ve made some progress with the History of Magic Curriculum, but most importantly, Barty and I went to a muggle lab to find out about our blood type. I’m AB– and Barty is AB+, which means that all three of us are compatible,” Voldemort informed her.

Her expression lit up in excitement. “That’s amazing!”

“We also went to Gringotts to inquire about the possible side effects of the impurities in blood and pregnancy hormones.”

She gasped dramatically. “You were in Diagon Alley?” she exclaimed. “How did I not see you? When was it?”

“Around ten o’clock, you were still travelling.”

“Dammit,” she cursed under her breath. “Well,” she sighed, “what happened at Gringotts? What did you learn about possible side effects?” She took another bite.

“After extracting the blood, they can purify it of any impurities; however, they don’t know what kind of consequences, if any, the pregnancy hormones could have on the adoptee.”

She furrowed her brow, uncertainly. “I don’t know.” She turned to Barty. “What do you say Barty? Do you want to go through the Blood Adoption even though you don’t know what will happen if you drink my blood full of pregnancy hormones?”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind it.”

She looked at him sceptically, but accepted his decision, which was apparently to go through with the adoption with her current hormone-ridden blood no matter the consequences. “If you say so.” She pursed her lips. “Just don’t complain if you fall ill because of it and it messes with your entire shit on the inside.” She gestured to her body in general to illustrate her words.

“I’m willing to take the risk,” insisted Barty.

“Okay,” she conceded. She turned to Voldemort again. “And when exactly were you thinking we should blood adopt him?”

“Between August 10th and August 14th.”

“Alright,” she agreed, smiling. “As long as it’s not on August 8th, or tomorrow, other dates are fine.”

“Why?” he frowned in confusion. “What is happening on Monday?”

“Why, we’re going to attend the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Grand Opening, of course,” she announced excitedly. Voldemort froze, not knowing what to make of the news.

Aya noticed his reaction. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you think it’s wise for us to show in public?”

“No,” she admitted, “but you could disguise yourself like you did two days ago when we went to Diagon Alley.”

“I could,” he allowed, “but what will you say when people notice your company and start asking questions about you and me. What are you going to tell them?”

“What I would normally say, that it’s none of their business,” she said casually. “Besides, beyond the twins putting up a notice for tomorrow’s issue of The Daily Prophet, there won’t be any news reporters there. Joke shops aren’t that exciting for the press, you know.”

Voldemort still looked sceptical. She reached out for his hand. “I know I’m asking a lot,” she said gently, “but I really want to go with you.” Voldemort said nothing. “Hopefully the kids and the teenagers will be more interested in trying and buying Fred and George’s products and not pay attention to us,” she insisted gently with her puppy eyes. “Please, darling?”

He finally let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he said in resignation. “We’ll go together.”

Her face illuminated with joy as she leaned forward over the table and hugged him and peppered his face with kisses. He tried to keep a neutral face, but he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth curling upwards ever so slightly.

Returning to her seat, she recalled a few other things she wanted to mention to Voldemort. “Right, darling, I have a couple of things to tell you.”

Why did he have a bad feeling about those other couple of things as well?

“Well, actually three,” she corrected herself, only to add an uncertain “I think.”

It was even worse than he thought then. Although, to be fair, he might be over-reacting before even hearing what she needed to tell him. Sighing loudly, he prompted her to continue.

“First, when I told my friends about the babies, after they got over their initial shock and mixed feelings, they wanted to know if we’ll be hosting a baby shower.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what a baby shower was, but if they would be _hosting_ it, that meant inviting people over to the manor, which was supposed to be secret from most people. At this rate, he would really have to put the manor under the Fidelius Charm; otherwise, something would go wrong for his plans sooner rather later.

He closed his eyes and rested his hand between them. “In short, you want to know if you can invite your friends over for something besides the wedding. Am I right?” He turned to her.

“Essentially, yes,” she said tentatively.

“And when exactly did you plan to have it?”

“During winter holidays, between December 24th and December 30th.”

He thought about it for a bit. It wasn’t ideal, but if he already agreed to let her invite her friends to the wedding, he might as well let her invite them to the baby shower. They already signed the secrecy contract, so it wasn’t likely for them to be able to divulge the exact address of their home even if they wanted.

“Alright,” he said, “you can invite them to this baby shower thing.”

Before she could engulf him in hugs and kisses again, he prompted her to tell him about the other two things.

“I told my parents about us blood adopting Barty.”

“And?”

“Well, they were quite shocked at first, understandably so, but after I explained the reasoning behind it, they seemed to understand and accept it.”

Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. “And what is the third thing you would like to tell me?”

This time, she took a deep breath and he immediately knew she saved the worst for last.

“Sirius thinks Remus should know about Barty.”

There was silence.

“Did he say why?” inquired Voldemort stiffly after a while.

“Mostly because he thinks it would be unfair to Remus if he kept him in the dark about someone spying on him,” she said, “but he also brought up a good point about gaining another potential ally and spy within Hogwarts.”

Barty didn’t look thrilled at all, in fact, he looked like he needed to go to the bathroom for a shit, but Voldemort took the time to consider the option. “Agreed, having more allies and spies is always better, but the question is if Lupin would even want to be part of this, let alone siding with me. He owes much to Dumbledore after all, doesn’t he?”

“Well,” began Aya, grimacing, “I suppose he did let him attend Hogwarts even though he knew Remus was a werewolf, but other than that I don’t know if Dumbledore did much for him. I mean, the one who is brewing Wolfsbane Potion for him is my father Severus not Dumbledore, so … yeah, but you’re right about whether he even wants to join us or not.” She sighed. “I suppose we could have him sign the secrecy contract regardless, because we first have to disclose the information to him for him to think about it and make a decision.”

“True,” agreed Voldemort, “I don’t look forward to divulging my plans just yet, but if it helps the cause, why not.”

…

After dinner, they went to their bedroom, where they took a joint bath. He was leaning against the tub, his arms encircling her and she was practically lying on top of him, her head resting on his chest, but far from it being a relaxing soak, Voldemort kept thinking back to whatever the house elf told Aya.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Kreacher?” she asked softly, breaking the heavy silence and looking up at him.

“Because I didn’t bother to remember the name of the elf I experimented my horcrux defences on and left for dead, that’s why,” he snapped defensively. He let out a shaky breath, clenching his teeth, glaring, but not making any sort of eye contact. He didn’t want to see disappointment in her eyes.

Aya remained unfazed to his outburst and simply limited herself to rub his chest soothingly. “No need to be tense about it, darling,” she told him gently, placing a kiss to his skin. “As I said, I still love you just as much as before.”

He closed his eyes, let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“I don’t like knowing you treated Kreacher in such a despicable way, but I understand it had to happen. Because if you hadn’t tortured Kreacher with that potion, which, by the way, you have to tell me what it is and give me the recipe so that I can brew it and torture people with it. The potion’s properties and effects are right up my alley in terms of psychological torture,” she concluded excitedly, her eyes sparkling.

The tension in his body melted away at her words and he couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, she would find the potion suitable for torture.

“I can brew it for you,” he assured her. “Just how much would you like me to brew?” he asked, amused.

“A hundred litres,” she announced with a smile.

He wasn’t sure whether she was serious or joking, probably the former. He laughed boisterously all the same. “A hundred litres? What are you going to do with so many litres?” he asked half-amused and half-confused. “Just how many people do you intend to torture?”

“Only those who dare harm us,” she said with conviction. “Why? Does the potion have an expiration date?”

“No, but a hundred litres is a lot. Where would we even store it?”

“The basement,” she suggested tentatively. “Or in the attic maybe?”

“Even so, I’m not brewing a hundred litres of the Emerald Potion.” She pouted, but didn’t protest. “We’ll start with a dozen litres and when we start running low on it, I’ll brew a bigger batch next time, okay?”

She nodded with pursed lips. He chuckled and pecked her. Her arms wrapped around his neck and deepened the kiss. Once they separated for air, she cleared her throat.

“Anyway, what I was saying, before going on a tangent about the torture potion,” she stirred their conversation back on the previous topic. “If you hadn’t treated Kreacher badly and he hadn’t been bound to return to Regulus, Regulus would never have betrayed you and I wouldn’t have stumbled upon Marvolo at Grimmauld Place more than a decade later during the refurbishing and I would have been missing an important member of my army of Horcrux Knights in Mismatched Robes. Which reminds me,” she said in all seriousness from within his embrace, “I’m still missing one. The Cup. I better start thinking about what to name him.” She looked up at him. “When are you finally going to tell Bellatrix to retrieve him from the vault? I want to meet him already.”

“Well, I was planning to gather my select marked followers tomorrow afternoon, after the warding, to, at least, introduce you officially to them and to introduce them officially to you, so you will finally be able to put faces to the names,” said Voldemort. “After laying down some rules in regards to you and the babies, I planned to tell Bellatrix to fetch the cup from her vault immediately. Which means, you could have the cup here by dinner if she’s swift at carrying out my order.”

She grinned. “Yay,” she cheered and snuggled into Voldemort, “I can’t wait to see how he looks.” Her expression turned grim. “I hope he won’t be as fragile looking as Ramses. I wonder if he has any special abilities.”

He snorted in amusement, slightly shaking his head, only to recall that Regulus had indeed turned on him and managed to get the locket away from the cave, overcoming his defences with the elf’s help and transporting his horcrux to another location.

Noticing some of the tension return to his frame, Aya immediately interfered. “No feeling upset, darling,” she told him sternly. “The only thing that matters is that Marvolo is here with me, safely resting around my neck without a single scratch on him. Yes?” She held the pendant between her fingers, holding it up to him.

He looked first at the locket and then at her and nodded begrudgingly.

“No dwelling on what could have been different, because everything happened for a reason and it led to the best possible outcome,” she insisted. “That being said, I do want you to apologise to Kreacher for putting him through the wringer.”

Voldemort grimaced at the prospect of apologising. “I’m not asking you to give a speech,” she elaborated, “a simple: ‘Kreacher, I’m sorry for how I treated you, it won’t happen again’, would be more than enough. Because I expect you to treat him with the same cordiality you treat Winky.”

He sighed loudly, but agreed to speak with the elf and apologise to him, something that brought a smile to Aya’s lips and that earned him another smouldering kiss.

…

A few minutes later, they washed away any soap residue and left the bath to dry themselves.

In the bedroom, Voldemort didn’t even bother putting on underwear and just went to bed in his naked glory, while Aya went to her trunk to at least put on panties and a tank top. She started rummaging through her clothes to get to her underwear.

Meanwhile, Voldemort was observing her from the bed, propped up on his side, leaning on his elbow, unashamedly staring at her ass and pussy. “I don’t understand why you’re even getting dressed, when you could just sleep naked, like me.”

“Well, I’m not used to sleeping naked; I don’t think I ever have besides when we have sex. Even in summer,” she said absently as she put on some white panties. She turned to him slightly. “Do you sleep naked even in winter?” she asked him, before returning to her clothes and searching for her favourite form fitting, white tank top with a skeleton torso.

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

She turned to him, gasping in shock. “Don’t you feel cold?”

“No, because I’m covered with a blanket that has been charmed with the Warming Charm.”

“Ah,” she breathed in understanding, “makes sense.” She put on her top and joined Voldemort in bed. “Well, I like to dress really warm and cosy in winter,” she said when she made herself comfortable under the covers next to him, “just wait until I start wearing double socks. I tell you, Voldemort; you won’t see a sexier thing than fluffy socks over cotton ones,” she assured him, wiggling her eyebrows and a mischievous grin on her lips.

He laughed, his own eyes sparkling with amusement too. “I can’t wait to see it.”

His hands immediately hugged her by the waist and pressed her against him. She slid her arms under his and hugged him around the torso.

“And that’s not all,” she added, still grinning. “In addition to fluffy socks, I’m also going to wear fluffy slippers. In fact, you’ll be able to see those tomorrow, because I wear fluffy slippers all year round, because they’re just so comfortable.”

He draped a leg over hers. “You’ll unpack tomorrow and you can show me every sexy and erotic piece of clothing in your wardrobe. What do you say?” he whispered in a deep and husky voice, intending to seduce.

She giggled and snuggled closer to his body. “You know I like it,” she whispered against his lips, before catching them in a long and sensual kiss. When they separated, they nuzzled each other’s faces for a bit, before Voldemort tucked her head under his chin and the Lumos Maxima illuminating their room wore off.

…

While twenty minutes later sounded like Voldemort had fallen asleep, Aya still couldn’t successfully calm down her brain. Knowing that she would finally meet the final Voldemort’s horcrux the following day filled her with both excitement and nerves. She also had less than twenty-four hours to find a few name suggestions for the Cup to choose.

She glanced up at Voldemort, before very slowly and carefully disentangling her right arm from under his left and ever so slightly shifting toward her nightstand where she knew she had her phone.

Halfway her manoeuvring, she froze in place when Voldemort started shifting himself, which only resulted in him reaffirming his hold on her in her new position on her back with both arms free. When he stopped moving and his breathing remained slow and deep, she closed the remaining distance to her phone, then settled back and nearly blinded herself with the phone’s bright screen.

After lowering the screen brightness and adjusting her eyes to the light, she opened Google Search and stared at it for a while. What should she put in the search engine? She knew that after Ramses, the only logical next step in the naming should be to find a name of a deity, but it couldn’t be just any deity. It had to be connected to her husband.

What was something that made her husband special? Well, if you asked her, everything about him was special and unique, but if she had to name one thing then it would be Parseltongue! The ability to speak to snakes. He was also a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, whose symbol was a snake, and Voldemort seemed to really like snakes, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have made Nagini into his familiar.

She typed ‘snake deities’ into the engine and clicked on the first search result called ‘Snake Worship’ by Wikipedia. She skimmed through the article, but felt most drawn to the Mesoamerican feathered serpent, the Aztec Quetzalcoatl and the Maya Kukulkan (or Q’uq’umatz in K’iche Maya). She had to stifle her laughter, because calling the Cup Q’uq’umatz would be hilarious. Continuing her search, she also thought that Apep was a cool name, especially after refreshing her knowledge on the Egyptian deity of chaos.

“What are you doing?” came a grumpy grumble from her left.

Voldemort’s voice startled her a bit and when she looked at him, she saw him squinting.

“I couldn’t sleep because I’m too excited and nervous for tomorrow so I wanted to look at possible names for the Cup,” she told him in a whisper.

“Can’t you look at the names tomorrow? Why does it have to be now?” he rasped sleepily.

“We’re already doing lots of stuff tomorrow, so yeah, it has to be now,” she said in a loud whisper.

Without saying anything else, he simply took her phone and placed it on his nightstand, so she couldn’t reach it without stretching over him. Luckily, the alarm was set to go off at 6:45.

“Hey,” she complained, but he quickly silenced her.

“Sleep,” he rasped and hugged her to his chest. He quickly settled again, breathing softly and deeply, his slits buried in her hair.

Aya muffled her giggles, but ended up snuggling into Voldemort wearing a large smile on her face, taking in his masculine scent and letting it fill her lungs, while the slow rise and fall of his chest and his steady heartbeat lulled her to sleep.

…

After a quick trip to the toilet to take care of their physiological needs, brush their teeth, freshen up their faces and get dressed, Voldemort helped Aya unpack her ‘sexy and highly erotic’ things (even baggy tracksuit pants and baggy sweaters and hoodies she liked to wear on colder days) and store them in their wardrobe.

“Whether it’s form fitting or loose and you barely see my curves, I still look sexy,” she announced confidently. Voldemort chuckled, but had to agree with her on that.

They barely started unpacking her other personal effects, starting with her skull and manga collection, when it was time for them to breakfast, before the warding team from Gringotts arrived at ten.

When they did, they greeted them at the door. After brief formal introductions and small talk between Aya and Bill, with him passing Fleur’s greetings to Aya and her asking him about her, Voldemort showed them around the manor so they could start warding every room, while Aya retired to the kitchen to help Winky and Kreacher prepare some refreshments and bake some biscuits for the gentlemen and lunch.

It took three hours and a half to ward the entire manor, but it was definitely worth it. Now all they had to do was look for all the components they needed for off-grid electricity, set them up and start producing electricity.

The curse breakers appreciated the refreshments and snacks and left their house with happy faces.

After eating a late lunch, Voldemort briefly stepped aside with Kreacher to, what Aya assumed, apologise for his past behaviour, before having the elves set up the dining room for the Death Eater meeting.

At three, he used Barty’s mark to call on his trusted Death Eaters, except for Severus, who was already familiar with the entire situation.

They appeared shortly after he summoned them. As they trickled through the dining room door and assumed their assigned spot at the table based on their standing within the circle, Aya, who was standing left to Voldemort at the head of the table, observed them to see if she would be able to recognise the Lestrange brothers, but other than Draco’s father, she proved unsuccessful. She supposed the female with wild, curly black hair, who was directing a deathly glare at her was Bellatrix, but she wouldn’t get ahead of herself and assume things, since she wasn’t the only woman present. However, she was the only woman in the room who was eyeing Voldemort as if he was a candy she wanted to have.

It took everything in Aya’s body not to call her out on it and lash at her. The only thing that comforted her was the knowledge that by the time the meeting was over, the bitch would learn her place, and by the time the day was over, she would hand over her husband’s horcrux.

“Now that all of you are present, let us begin with the meeting.” Voldemort’s voice brought her out of her musings. “I will make it as brief as possible, but it is important that you all remember what I am going to tell you.”

“I do not mean to question you, my Lord,” the bitch spoke to her husband, “but what is _she_ doing here?” Of course, she was referring to her, but what rubbed Aya the wrong way was how she referred to her as if she didn’t have any right to be at the meeting, when as Voldemort’s woman she had _every_ right to be present if she so wished.

Before Voldemort could inform the bitch about Aya’s role in his life, Aya felt that the only way the bitch would understand was through demonstration.

She smiled in an overly sweet manner and said, “Let me show you the reason I’m here,” before boldly straddling Voldemort’s lap, cradling his face between her hands and swooping in for a heart-stopping kiss in front of everybody.

After the initial shock on Voldemort’s end wore off, he quickly brought his arms around her, pressing her closer to him. Their tongues danced together and their lips moved possessively against one another, forgetting for a moment that they had an audience.

Those who had some common decency looked away uncomfortably, while other, curious subjects openly gaped at the intimate display of affection between the Dark Lord and the Girl-Who-Lived in awe and confusion. Bellatrix simply glared venomously at the back of Aya’s head, clenching her fists, with Rodolphus ready to intervene at any given moment.

The kiss went on for longer than anyone anticipated, but when it finally stopped, Aya turned her head towards Bellatrix, wearing a triumphant smirk and gently wiping the corner of her thoroughly kissed lips. “Was this a clear enough answer for you, or do I have to be even more explicit and graphic for your putrid, little brain to understand the obvious?” She rubbed herself against Voldemort’s clothed erection, while keeping eye contact with Bellatrix, for emphasis.

Voldemort’s breath hitched and his fingers dug deeper into her clothes to keep himself from reacting outwardly to the stimulation and to hold Aya’s hips in place.

Bellatrix remained silent, but kept glaring hatefully at Aya.

Voldemort cleared his throat and addressed Bellatrix. “First of all,” he began, clearly showing his dissatisfaction with her, “I do not appreciate you interrupting me, Bellatrix.” The woman had the decency to hunch her shoulders and lower her head in a submissive gesture. “Second of all, before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to explain _exactly_ why Aya was present.”

He looked at everyone gathered at the table. “In case it wasn’t made clear enough,” he said sternly and authoritatively, with Aya still straddling him, “Aya is my woman.” There was shock on most people’s faces, but nobody said anything. “She is also the mother of my children and she is going to be my wife in a few months.”

“Children, my Lord?” said the male next to Bellatrix carefully.

“Aya is pregnant with triplets,” Voldemort said simply.

She could see that everyone was dying to know how and when exactly the necessary requirements for a pregnancy happened between the two, but they were also sensible enough not to ask Voldemort about it. Bellatrix just looked furious and on the verge of a tantrum.

“And you are to protect Aya and the babies with your very lives if necessary. Should any harm come to either Aya or the babies,” he encompassed his audience with narrowed eyes, “saying I won’t be happy about it would be an understatement of the century.”

Recalling the threats of severe bodily harm from the meeting the month before let them know just what awaited them if they failed to protect their Lord’s wife and children. A chorus of “Yes, my Lord” echoed through the dining room. Aya wore a wide, goofy grin as she nuzzled Voldemort’s cheek and snuggled closer to him, not caring about the looks from others.

“Another thing, besides introducing Aya as my wife and the mother of my children, I also wanted to take this opportunity to officially introduce all of you to her as well,” he continued casually. “If I’m already expecting you to protect her and the kids, she might as well know who is who. She already knows Lucius and Barty; the rest, start introducing yourselves, starting with you, Raphael,” he said, gesturing to the elderly-looking man with a goatee on his right.

Since his last name was Lestrange, she assumed he was the father of Rodolphus, who was sitting next to him, also sporting a goatee. Next to him were Bellatrix and Rabastan. Then came Rosier and Nott seniors and Avery and Mulciber seniors with their sons. The fathers of her fellow schoolmates Crabbe and Goyle. Gibbon, Jugson, Travers, Selwyn, the Snyde couple, Thorfinn Rowle, Walden MacNair, the Carrow siblings, Alecto and Amycus, Corban Yaxley, Antonin Dolohov and Augustus Rookwood, before they reached the two Death Eaters she already knew Lucius Malfoy and Barty Crouch junior on Voldemort’s left.

She acknowledged and returned the greeting of every single Death Eater, but by the time they reached the halfway point, she felt overwhelmed with so many names and surnames. She would need to use some learning strategies to memorise the names more quickly and efficiently.

“That will be everything, dismissed,” he said and everyone started to get up and leave the room. “Bellatrix,” he called out, “you will stay behind. I need you to do something.”

“Yes, my Lord. Anything you want,” she said reverently, looking hopeful, happy even, at the prospect of Voldemort having a special assignment for her and no one else. ‘You wish, bitch,’ thought Aya, doing her best not to snort and laugh.

When Voldemort, Aya and Bellatrix were the only people left in the dining room, Voldemort spoke again. “I want you to go to Gringotts and bring me the cup I asked you to store in your vault. I want it back, by dinner,” he spoke firmly in a no-nonsense tone.

Bellatrix’ excitement quickly subsided and turned into hurt, disappointment, and anger towards Aya, who wore a smug grin and a look of superiority, but bowed her head and said, “It will be done, my Lord,” before disappearing from the room.

Once they were alone, Voldemort turned to Aya, who was still straddling his lap and hugging his torso. “What was that all about?” he inquired, referring to the kiss and her staying in his lap for the entire duration of the meeting, which worked just fine for him since it hid his erection from others. Not that he minded the kiss or having her in his lap that much, but he wasn’t expecting it either.

Her eyes turned intense and she caressed his face. “Simply put, I was marking my territory, showing everyone, Bellatrix especially, who you belong to, darling,” she told him with nothing but seriousness permeating her voice. “Because just like how my entire being is yours, your entire being is mine too,” she said huskily under her breath, leaning forward, cupping his face to kiss his lips.

His hands tangled in her hair and closed the distance separating them. Their lips and tongues intertwined passionately, renewing their arousal and need to feel the other. Voldemort’s hands went to her ass, securing her around his waist, before standing up and carrying her towards their room, stumbling and almost tripping over the steps in his eagerness to get her to bed and out of her clothes as soon as possible.

Once they reached their destination, he placed her on the ground, with her still kissing his jaw and neck. As she pulled back and looked into his eyes, she grabbed the front of his robes firmly in her hands then pulled apart, tearing the fabric. He found her sudden strength incredibly arousing.

She leaned in for another smouldering kiss, before moving to his chest, down his stomach, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, flicking her tongue to lick his snake skin patches. Feeling her lips, her hot breath and tongue on his body made goosebumps erupt on his skin as a slight shiver wrecked through his body.

His breath quickened and grew shakier, his eyes fluttered shut to enhance the feeling of Aya’s lips on his bare skin. When she reached his clothed erection, he felt her nuzzle it through the fabric and he groaned. He looked down to see her on her knees before him, looking up at him from under her lashes, while slowly undoing his trousers. He swallowed hard, feeling a new surge of arousal pump through his veins at the sight before him and the anticipation of what she planned to do.

As his erection came into view, she let her hot breath ghost over it for a few moments, before touching it and placing a few open mouthed kissed alongside his shaft. Just when it looked as if she was going to take him into her sinful mouth, she rose to her feet, gave him a peck on the lips and manoeuvred him on the bed, gently pushing him back first on the mattress. Then, she took a step back and began undressing herself slowly, not taking her eyes away from his.

His eyes took in her every movement, drinking in greedily the sight of each inch of skin she exposed, until she was standing in front of him in her naked glory, her voluptuous breasts, hips and thighs. She stalked towards him, swaying her waist, placing one knee on the mattress and then the other, until she approached him on all fours and covered him with her body. His hands immediately came up to explore her smooth and soft skin.

They kissed unhurriedly, letting their tongues explore their mouths anew, tasting the other. When their lungs burnt for air, they broke the kiss, but Aya continued exploring his neck, chest and abdomen, until she reached his twitching and leaking cock.

She looked at her husband as she took his manhood into her hand and pumped a few times, before lavishing it with open-mouthed kisses again. This time, she didn’t stop. She licked the underside of his dick in one long, sensual swipe, before taking him into her mouth, trying to swallow as much of him as she could before gagging on it.

Feeling her hot mouth around him was just as wonderful as feeling her pussy. When she hummed around him, creating vibrations, his eyes closed on their own from pure pleasure while a breathy moan escaped his throat. His hips jerked and his hands fisted the sheets beneath him.

He wasn’t sure he would last long, especially when she started bobbing her head up and down, and it’s not like it mattered much. When the orgasm finally hit him like a tsunami, his body tensed and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

While he was trying to catch his breath, she swallowed every single drop of cum that came out of Voldemort’s throbbing cock. It had a unique taste, one that only tasted better the more you ate it.

As she let his spent cock slip out of her mouth with an obscene pop and moan, her darling husband’s glazed eyes looked at her. There was nothing but pleasure and happiness shining in them and she couldn’t help but smile at him.

She covered him with her body, hugging him. “Thank you, darling, for the delicious afternoon snack,” she whispered seductively against his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her as well. “You’re welcome, dearest,” he returned huskily.

She giggled.

A few minutes of languid kissing and caressing later, they felt aroused again. She reached for his half-hard cock. Straddling him, she guided his erection towards her pussy and slowly impaled herself with it. When his entire length was inside her, she threw her head back and let out a throaty moan.

Supporting herself on his pectorals, she began to move her hips.

Meanwhile, Voldemort took in the sight of her hooded eyes with pupils blown wide, her bouncy breasts, his cock disappearing inside her heat, her lower abdomen, where their children were developing inside her womb. He gently scraped her thighs, then squeezed her hips, before sliding up her sides and reaching for her sensitive breasts, cupping and gently kneading them. She seemed to appreciate it as more whimpers and moans left her lips. He sat up, latching himself onto one nipple and sucking on it, making her whine and twitch.

Halfway towards their joint orgasm, Voldemort took over their lovemaking. Holding her by the ass, he flipped Aya onto her back in one swift movement. With him in control, the rhythm of thrusts grew in speed and intensity as well. She spread her legs as wide as she could and clung to him with her arms, while he kept thrusting with force and vigour into her.

Between moans, groans, hissed declarations of love and whimpers, they reached their climax.

Voldemort collapsed on top of her, both completely out of breath and sweaty, but indescribably happy. She welcomed his weight and focused on how good it felt to have his body on top of hers, how amazing it felt to be filled with Voldemort’s warm sperm and feeling his throbbing cock inside her pussy, stretching and filling her so wonderfully.

After nuzzling and caressing each other for a while, he slipped out of her and observed her cum-filled pussy for a while, together with her flushed skin. He stretched out his arm and ran the back of his fingers along her wet folds, revelling in how it clenched and trembled beneath his touch. When a bit of his cum oozed out, he scooped it and began tracing her inner thighs and her lower abdomen, writing his name on her skin.

Once he had his fill, he carried her to the bathroom to freshen themselves up before dinner.

Just as they started soaping each other, he remembered thinking about Aya using her boobs to clean him. When he suggested it to her, Aya’s eyes lit up in excitement and she eagerly soaped her chest to get to work. Voldemort laughed freely. He was right. She was more than willing and ready to soap his entire body with her soap-covered breasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. 😊 For those eager to meet the cup, he will finally make his appearance in the following chapter. His name will be revealed in the title, but let's see if you can get close to what he will be called. There are five options you can choose from:
> 
> A) Q'uq'umatz  
> B) Apep  
> C) Something else  
> D) Kukulkan  
> E) Quetzalcoatl


	6. Cup Cthulhu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cup Cthulhu joins the gang, while Voldemort and Aya spend a very lovely evening together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell from the chapter title, the cup's name is going to be Cthulhu. I noticed Apep was the most popular option, though some of you did choose 'something else' as well. I hope you're not too bothered by it and for those of you who don't know what Cthulhu is or how it looks like, here's a picture:  
> 
> 
> It might not be directly snake-related, but it's still a magnificent being, a cosmic entity that features tentacles, and as we know, Aya adores tentacle and monster porn so ... that's that 😂 And I think that the image and name would suit someone like Voldemort and his horcruxes.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😇 And don't hesitate to point out any inconsistencies. 😊

After a satisfying bath, they dried off and just before they got dressed, Aya took a moment to leave several visible hickeys on Voldemort’s neck to mark her territory some more.

With a couple of hours until dinner, Aya and Voldemort continued unpacking her stuff. They started with her skull collection. As Voldemort admired the details on each individual animal skull, Aya had a brilliant idea for Voldemort’s throne. In her mental picture, he sat on a throne made of human bones and skulls, wearing a metal armour, with clawed metal gloves and a ram-like skull mask.

He arched a hairless eyebrow. She was serious about the Demon Lord thing. She showed him a few pictures on the Internet of the kind of throne she envisioned as well as some of the garments she supposed would suit him on special occasions. Both the throne and the armour looked great and very appealing; however, the latter looked very unpractical and hard to move in it. Nevertheless, maybe he should indulge her for the upcoming Hallowe’en and their wedding, and dress in Demon Lord Regalia and surprise her.

After they put her skull collection on display in their bedroom, they moved onto her _manga_ collection. She was particularly fond of the so-called _Seinen manga_ , which was apparently targeted towards adult male audience and it usually featured graphic and mature themes, from violence and sex to drugs, different psychological phenomena, self-discovery, political intrigue, human experimentation, the corruption and deterioration of society and humanity. They could also be light-hearted, and while she enjoyed romance as well, she usually gravitated towards the dark and heavy stuff.

He was looking at some of the titles she had: _Ajin: Demi-Human, No Longer Human, Assassination Classroom, Attack on Titan, Magi, Inuyashiki, Parasyte, A Silent Voice, Dorohedoro, Deadman Wonderland, Hellsing,_ and _Death Note_. Apparently, what she owned wasn’t everything she had read, and some of the titles were still on-going, but it was what she could get her hands on in bookstores.

He picked up a few volumes, read the blurbs at the back, and leafed briefly through them, to see the art style, some of the scenes and dialogue.

“If you want,” she said as he was browsing through _Deadman Wonderland_ , “you can borrow and read them, and if you want to watch rather than read, well, once we get everything set up, I’ll show you where I get my anime fix,” she said importantly, with a hand on his shoulder.

He chuckled, amused.

“Though, if there’s a book I would definitely recommend you read, if you haven’t yet, is _The Art of War_.” She looked through her novel collection to get to the one she was referring. “If you can get past the fact that the original text was written by a Chinese _muggle_ war general, this is one of the most vital texts you will ever come across in your life,” she said importantly, handing him the book.

He caressed the covers. “One of the most vital texts?” he repeated, looking at her. “What are other important texts I should know about in your opinion?”

“The other six books in the anthology commonly known as Seven Military Classics. I don’t know what they’re called at the top of my head, but a quick google search will give you the answer, and The Evil Overlord’s Guidebook, of course,” she added in a giggle, but quickly pulled herself together. “However, start with this one, I’ve read it a while back, shortly after I got it for my birthday from my friend Neville and I found it super interesting and useful. Maybe you will find it useful too, for what you’re doing.” She smiled and he busied himself leafing through it.

“As you’ll see, I already highlighted meaningful quotes,” she said as he noticed highlighted paragraphs upon highlighted paragraphs, “basically the entire book”. However, amidst the sea of highlighted quotes a few stuck out to him:

_‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’_

_‘Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.’_

_‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.’_

_‘All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.’_

_‘The skillful tactician may be likened to the shuai-jan. Now the shuai-jan is a snake that is found in the Ch'ang mountains. Strike at its head, and you will be attacked by its tail; strike at its tail, and you will be attacked by its head; strike at its middle, and you will be attacked by head and tail both.’_

_‘Deep knowledge is to be aware of disturbance before disturbance, to be aware of danger before danger, to be aware of destruction before destruction, to be aware of calamity before calamity.’_

_‘Strong action is training the body without being burdened by the body, exercising the mind without being used by the mind, working in the world without being affected by the world, carrying out tasks without being obstructed by tasks.’_

If there were more quotes like these spread throughout the book, he would definitely be reading it together with the other six military classics.

…

Once they finished unpacking and putting her manga and book collection on the bookshelves in the bedroom, and storing away her modest plush food toy collection at the bottom of the closet, Kreacher came to inform them about Bellatrix’s arrival.

They went to the foyer. The exchange was brief and to-the-point and Aya felt giddy finally holding the cup horcrux. She couldn’t stop smiling that goofy and dreamy smile and Voldemort could have sworn there were stars sparkling in her eyes, with how excited and enthusiastic she looked with the cup in her hand.

With a little over an hour to spare before dinner, they went to the kitchen, where Aya scrubbed the cup clean. “It’s been sitting in a vault for years, of course I need to freshen it up if I want to drink from it.” She turned to him. “Is it safe to drink from it?”

“Well, I used to drink from it and I didn’t have any problems with it, but it depends really,” he said.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “How so?”

“Well, it was safe for me to drink from, but not so much for others.”

“Oh,” was all she said, wide-eyed.

Giving the shiny, gold cup one final rinse under the running water from Voldemort’s wand, she grabbed a cloth towel and began drying it. However, once it was dry she wanted to try something.

She began rubbing the side with her hand, staring intently at it. “What are you doing?” asked Voldemort, confused by her action.

“I’m pretending I’m Aladdin with the magical lantern,” she told him; persevering in her endeavour, even though it wasn’t yielding the desired results.

Voldemort was further confused. “Who’s Aladdin?”

“A fictional character.” She looked at him. “We really need to work on your pop culture knowledge, darling, so that you’ll be able to understand what I’m saying most of the time,” she said in a serious tone, wearing a serious expression.

“Anyway,” she sighed, “in the story, Aladdin comes across a lantern that has a genie inside and the genie appears after you rub the side of the lantern, in my case, it’s the cup. So, I’m trying to wake him up and see if he will appear, but as you can see, it’s clearly not working.” She sounded and looked a bit crestfallen. “I could try offering a few drops of blood, or calling out to him, see if he hears me,” she added with a contemplative frown, “but I’ll wait until bedtime and let Tom drag him out and transfer him to my mental landscape.”

As soon as she finished saying that, she gasped as if struck by an epiphany. “Voldemort,” she said excitedly, “tonight could be the night we try and open the door of our soul bond.” Her eyes sparkled again with joy and enthusiasm. “And then, we can all hang out at my landscape, eating, drinking, dancing, playing cards or board games and talking.”

He smiled. “We could try doing that tonight, but it might take me a while to find and open the door.”

She hugged him by the waist, smiling wide. “As long as you find your way to it and through it, that’s all that matters, darling.” He returned the gesture and they leaned into each other, touching their lips.

They remained like this, with their arms around one another for a solid minute; with Aya resting her head on his chest, and Voldemort resting his chin on her head, before Aya suggested they make tiramisu together.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done it.”

“It’s not that complicated,” she assured him, “so you should be fine. Unless, of course, you would prefer to watch.”

“I’ll do both.” She giggled. “Where do we start?”

“Well, first, we need to brew some coffee.”

While they waited for the water to boil, Aya brought out the ingredients for the filling; the mascarpone cheese, whipped cream, sugar and a bit of vanilla essence. She was aware some recipes called for egg yolks, but she didn’t want to risk getting salmonella by incorporating raw eggs. She could cook them over a double boiler, but it was extra work that she just didn’t feel in the mood to do right now. She was already going to have a hard time whisking the filling by hand, even though it only took approximately two minutes to whip it by hand to soft peaks, she really didn’t want to add extra steps if she could just avoid them. The dessert was going to taste delicious either way.

She loosened the mascarpone cheese a bit to make it easier to incorporate with whipped cream, then proceeded to whisk the sweetened heavy cream vigorously with her dominant hand. Halfway, she stopped to catch her breath and switch hands. When she was done, she let out a loud sigh and flexed her arms a bit to relax her muscles.

“Who needs the gym when you have at-home fitness in the form of whisking? Just look at these biceps,” she commented in an up-beat manner, patting her underwhelming upper arm muscles.

“Impressive,” retorted Voldemort, laughing under his breath.

“Here, you should try it too.” She handed him the whisk and the bowl. “Combine the cheese with the cream and vanilla essence until there are no lumps and everything looks and feels smooth,” she instructed him and he did as told.

In the meantime, she made coffee and set it aside to cool.

“Is this okay?” He pointed at the luxurious, smooth and dense creamy consistency.

“Aha, now we need to refrigerate it for a few minutes.” Voldemort placed a cooling charm on the filling. “And when the coffee comes to room temperature, we can start dipping ladyfingers in it and placing them into a rectangular casserole,” she announced with a wide grin.

“Why don’t we speed up the process with a cooling charm? If we already placed it on the cream filling, why not place it on the coffee too,” he deadpanned and Aya’s brain started to consider that option.

“You’re right, I keep forgetting we can use magic, well, more like, I purposefully avoid it in mundane tasks, because I like to do things the muggle way. Makes me feel useful and productive. Besides, what are ten minutes?” she huffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Do you even know all the cuddling we can do in ten minutes?” she said importantly.

He laughed. “I suppose it is a good way to pass the time while we wait,” he said in a husky voice, wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning down to nibble on her ear. She let out a soft moan and leaned into him, placing her hands on his chest, caressing it.

He never really had particular sexual fantasies, but now, as they stood in the kitchen in each other’s arms, he couldn’t help but imagine Aya wearing a sexy French Maid costume or nothing but an apron while she cooked or moved about the house doing chores. Of course, he would only let her wear that if they had the entire mansion to themselves, so they could indulge in the role-play to their hearts’ content, going at it in different rooms and on different surfaces without interruption or other people seeing Aya in provocative clothing or naked.

“Wait until I convince Winky and Kreacher to take a day off a week and I buy some sexy maid costume to wear around the house while I cook or clean and we can have some master-maid role play if you’d like,” she said seductively, letting her hands glide across his chest and shoulders. “Or, if you prefer, I could be completely naked, maybe wearing an apron.”

Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, her front pressed against his, and he let out an aroused hiss. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking about.”

She smiled wickedly and wiggled her eyebrows. “Would you be interested in other role-play scenarios too?”

“Such as…?”His fingers slipped under her shirt to caress the skin around her waist.

“Teacher-student,” she pressed a kiss to his neck and goosebumps erupted on his skin, “nurse-patient or doctor-patient or doctor-nurse,” she moved to his ear and licked his earlobe. Voldemort’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation and his fingers dug into her skin possessively. “Then, there’s also police officer-criminal,” she kissed the corner of his mouth, “and boss-secretary … just to name a few.”

Now, her tantalising lips were a hair’s width from his, her breath mingled with his, making them both a bit lightheaded. After nuzzling each other’s noses, and saying, “I like all of them. We should definitely try all of them at some point,” Voldemort caught her lips in an ardent kiss that made their lips tingle and their bodies buzz with energy. By the time they separated, they were both breathing heavily, but smiling.

They rested their foreheads together, their eyes closed and arms around the other, and just enjoyed the closeness and the other’s scent.

“We should continue making tiramisu,” she whispered after a while and Voldemort murmured in agreement.

Remaining close, they prepared the casserole and the ladyfingers. They both dipped the cookies into the warm coffee alternatively, and then placed them inside the baking pan. When the first layer of ladyfingers was ready, Aya took the mascarpone mixture and dolloped half of the filling onto it, before spreading it with the back of a spoon, because she forgot to buy spatulas. They repeated the process a second time and this time, she let Voldemort spread the filling evenly over the cookies. When it looked levelled, she sifted a generous amount of cocoa powder over it.

“Ta-da,” she said dramatically. “Our tiramisu is complete. The only thing left before we dig in is to let it cool for about two hours so that the components can set completely.”

Feeling mischievous, Aya eyed the streaks of mascarpone filling inside the bowl. She scooped some of it on her finger and turned to Voldemort, sporting a wicked grin. 

Before Voldemort could react, she smeared his lips and chin with mascarpone and whipped cream. The next moment, she grabbed his face and pulled it towards her, so she could lick and kiss it off. Afterwards, she was still grinning, all smug.

Playfully narrowing his eyes, he did the same thing to her. She giggled into the kiss. Soon after, he was picking her up by the ass and placing her on the counter. Settled between her thighs, he eagerly kissed every expanse of her face, neck and shoulders, pulling at her clothes to get to her breasts and pussy.

…

After the spontaneous and quick lovemaking session in the kitchen, they returned to the sitting room to wait for dinner to be ready. As they were lounging on the sofa, snuggled into one another with her head tucked under his chin, Aya remembered something crucial. As usual, her realisation came accompanied by her signature dramatic gasp.

“What is it?” he prompted her, gently scratching her head.

“I planned to go shopping for a dress for Monday’s shop opening tomorrow, but I forgot that I don’t have any muggle money,” she sounded, horrified.

He glanced down at her. “And you think I have muggle money lying around the house like candy or what?”

She looked up at him. “No,” she pursed her lips adorably, “but maybe there’s a safe that we could crack open somewhere around the mansion. Maybe it’s behind a painting in your study or even our bedroom.”

He laughed boisterously at her not-so-farfetched suggestion. Well, his father’s family was rich after all and they probably had a safe somewhere. He still hadn’t done a thorough investigation of the manor, but they could spend the rest of the evening searching for it. 

“True,” he agreed, when he recovered from his laughing fit. “If you want, we can look for it now and continue after dinner; otherwise, unless I make a quick trip to Gringotts tomorrow morning, you will just have to find something less elegant to wear to the opening.”

She sat upright next to him on the sofa, a determined look on her face. “Let’s, darling.” She stood up, eager to start the search for the safe as soon as possible. Chuckling, he followed her suit.

They started in the living room, looking behind every painting or any suspiciously placed piece of furniture, but found nothing. They went upstairs, where they continued their search in Voldemort’s study.

Having read and played so many _Sherlock Holmes_ games, it didn’t surprise Aya in the slightest, when not long after, they found what they were looking for. She channelled her own Holmesian powers of observation and deduction and they yielded results. The discrete scratches on the wall near one of the landscapes were her biggest hint.

“Nice work,” he praised and she felt elated to hear it.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “Now, how do we proceed from here? The muggle or the wizard way?” she asked him, squinting at the sturdy looking black safe.

“Unless you know how to open a safe to which you don’t have the combination, I’m all for spells and magic,” retorted Voldemort next to her.

“Well, I have broken into a few safes with Sherlock Holmes, but I’m not sure I have sufficient knowledge on safes to know which method would be appropriate for this one,” she sounded like she actually had a clue what she was talking about, when, in reality, it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“In short, we do it my way,” summarised Voldemort in a deadpan voice.

“Yes.”

He took out his wand and cast the unlocking charm. It worked without a hitch. Inside the safe, they saw several stacks of pound sterling coins and bulky bundles of five-, ten-, twenty-, and fifty-pound sterling paper notes together with a handful of envelopes and a scroll.

The envelopes ended up containing old and expired bank statements, business contracts and other contract-style documents. The scroll turned out to be two plans of the mansion, one dating back to the beginning of the nineteenth century and the other dating back to 1960.

“This could be useful for setting up the wiring,” she said, looking at the plan.

“I suppose,” said Voldemort absent-mindedly.

They turned their attention to the money stored inside the safe. Aya’s excitement was quickly sullied by uncertainty, when she realised that the notes and the coins were several decades old and, most probably, they weren’t valid anymore. She heaved a dejected sigh.

“What now?” asked Voldemort, seeing her crestfallen expression.

“I think these are not valid anymore,” she bemoaned.

“Well, you better find something to wear from your already existing wardrobe then,” deadpanned Voldemort, much to Aya’s dismay.

“No,” she squealed melodramatically, prolonging the vowel.

He rolled his eyes. “Why do you even want to wear a dress to the opening of a joke shop anyway?”

“It might be a joke shop but it’s still an official occasion,” she said adamantly, “and I also want to look extra good for you.”

He let out an amused chuckle. “What about the dress you wore to the Yule Ball?” he suggested. “Can’t you just wear that one?”

“Too unpractical for the occasion,” she said, “mostly because of the long skirt. I don’t want people stepping on it and tripping me. So, I need a dress with a shorter skirt, preferably knee-length.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “So, I still have to go to Gringotts tomorrow to get you some money?” concluded Voldemort.

She looked at him with puppy eyes and adorably pursed lips, “Please. I mean I could call my parents and ask them to deliver some money, but I’m not sure they have dozens of pounds just lying around the house.”

“Fine,” he breathed, giving into her request, “I’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, threw her arms around his torso, and nuzzled his chest. “Thank you, darling, you’re the best.” She announced with a radiant smile and Voldemort felt warmth spread all over him.

He returned her hug. “Of course, I’m the best,” he said cheekily and leaned down to kiss her lips again. She just kept smiling and when their lips touched, she proceeded to smother him in kisses.

…

Their tiramisu turned out delicious and it was a great follow-up dessert to Winky’s cooking. They retired to bed, where Aya showed him some of the names she found that could suit the cup horcrux. Voldemort seemed to like most of them, however, he showed aversion to calling any part of him Q’uq’umatz. Aya laughed heartily at that, then, a moment later, another name idea came to her.

“What about Cthulhu?” she said eagerly. Noticing Voldemort’s confused and lost expression, she began explaining the Lovecraftian creature. “It’s a fictional cosmic entity that looks like a mix between an octopus, a dragon and a human. It has an octopus-like head with tentacles for a beard, scales covering the rest of his body, claws, and rudimentary wings on the back. Here, let me show you a picture or two,” she said, typing in the monster’s name into the search bar, “… or ten … or fifty. It’s not really snake-related, but it looks and sounds cool. This is it,” she announced when the screen loaded the pictures and she began scrolling through them. “Doesn’t it look magnificent?” she said in awe and he had to admit he did find it appealing. “Awesome, then we have another name suggestion for the cup.”

Shortly after, they fell asleep and Tom transferred Aya and the rest of the horcruxes to her mental landscape. It felt good to be back after several days of absence, but Aya’s attention was on the sleeping form on the grass made of sprinkles, lollipops and sugar canes.

She felt relieved that he wasn’t in a similar state as Ramses, however, he still looked quite thin, with ribs and collarbone clearly visible, his skin was sickly pale, his hairline was receding, his cheeks were gaunt and, even though he was sleeping, the dark circles under his eyes seemed permanently etched into his skin.

She smiled softly at the cup and sat down next to him on her legs with the rest of the horcruxes standing around them. She reached out to comb his hair carefully as to not startle him or make his hair fall out. It took several strokes before he even reacted, and a few more before he even started showing signs he was waking up, but when he cracked his eyes open, they were the same shade of red she knew and loved so much.

After getting used to the brightness of her landscape and her shiny body, he was finally able to take a better look at the people around him. Seeing so many versions of himself at once must have been very confusing.

“What is going on?” he asked in a voice raspy from disuse, encompassing all of them with a wary look. “Why are you all here? Why is everything so bright? Who is this sparkly woman?”

“I’m Aya,” she put a hand over her chest, “and you are in my mental landscape. Tom,” she gestured to how he looked at sixteen when he made the diary horcrux, “transferred us all here so we could finally meet you and welcome you into our family,” she announced brightly.

He grimaced. “What family?”

“The horcrux family, of course,” she said. “Or, as Gaunt and Marvolo put it, Horcrux Knights in Mismatched Robes.”

He still looked confused. “Wait so … you have somehow collected all of my horcruxes?”

“Pretty much, yes.” She nodded light-heartedly.

“Why?”

“Well, because you’re part of my husband and I don’t want you to feel alone and bored in your container.”

He gaped in shock. “Husband?” he repeated slowly. “As in … Voldemort?”

“Yes, him. Voldemort is my husband,” she said with a brilliant smile. “Well, we’re officially getting married in a few months, but we already call each other husband and wife. We’re already expecting triplets and we even have a soul bond in place, you know?” As she said that, she heard the rustling of chains. “That must be him.” She stood up and rushed towards the door, leaving Tom, Marvolo, Gaunt and Ramses to deal with a thunderstruck Cup.

The rattle of chains and locks alerted Moriarty to the company. Seeing him only added to Cup’s shock.

Once every single lock and chain fell away from the massive door, it slowly opened to reveal Voldemort’s form. As soon as she saw him, she squealed the endearment she coined for him and pounced on him, wrapping herself around him like a monkey, nuzzling his cheek.

“Ah, shit,” sighed Gaunt, “here we go again.”

“What did I miss?” wondered the cup aloud, not quite believing the display of affection between his older self and this … Aya girl.

Marvolo placed a hand on his shoulder. “A lot, my friend. So much so I don’t know where to begin,” he said in a sage-like voice.

Gaunt joined by placing a hand on the cup’s other shoulder. “True, though I must say you fared better with the pregnancy news than the original. Especially when he learned it wasn’t one baby, but three.”

“What happened?” inquired the cup.

“He fainted,” deadpanned Ramses.

Cup’s eyes widened.

“But come,” said Gaunt, “let’s go to a chocolate Jacuzzi to discuss all the exhilarating and juicy things you missed.” They both started guiding him towards the chocolate baths and away from the tooth-rotting display of affection between Aya and Voldemort. Tom, Ramses and Moriarty followed them.

“We should probably start with how Moriarty even came to be,” said Tom. “I think that’s chronologically the first piece of information we should cover.”

The cup looked confused between his other versions. “Who’s Moriarty? In fact, who is who anyway?”

Moriarty rose his hand. “I’m Moriarty.”

“As for the rest of our names, all in good time,” said Gaunt sagely. “By the time we finish telling you what we need to tell you, our names will be the last thing on your mind.”

…

“You found it,” she smiled blindingly. “You found our bond.”

He chuckled, his arms wrapped around her naked but glowing form. “Of course, I did.” They kissed.

When they separated, he set her down. “Come, let me show you our babies, before we go join the horcruxes,” she said, giddy, holding his hand. As soon as he crossed the threshold of their bond, his clothes disappeared. The only thing covering him was a bright gold light around his dick area.

“Here they are,” she announced almost immediately, pointing at the three bright lights framing the door between their souls.

Voldemort approached the one nearest him to inspect it. He could see the light pulse and as he extended an arm towards it to touch it, he could feel it react to his presence by brushing against him ever so softly, letting him feel its magic, pulse and warmth.

He stared mesmerised at the ball of light, magic and energy that was one of the triplets. His child. His and Aya’s child. A smile tugged on his lips. Aya mirrored his expression as she observed the scene before her, her eyes tingling with tears of happiness, because what she was feeling couldn’t have been anything else but utter happiness.

She joined him and together, they let the lights know of their presence, something that must have pleased them greatly, because they kept buzzing with joy. After a few minutes of Voldemort acquainting himself with the physical manifestations of their children, he took in the sight of Aya’s Candyland.

“I’m having flashbacks to our first conversation, where you saw something very similar in the Mirror of Erised,” he commented pensively. “Is there a particular reason why your mental landscape looks like this?”

“Well, I suppose it represents who I am,” she thought aloud, “and as you can see I’m, first and foremost, extremely sweet,” she said with a smug grin.

He laughed. “That’s true.”

“But if you explore a bit more … then you can find other flavours as well, which would correspond to different facets of my personality. I can be sweet, I can be spicy, I can be salty and bitter, and I can be sour. In short, I’m one giant flavour bomb and with different people I display different flavours.”

“I see,” he breathed in understanding, hugging her by the waist. “So, with me you’re mostly sweet and spicy?” he smirked suggestively.

“Of course,” she grinned back.

“And every flavour has its own food?”

“Aha. As I said, Moriarty can be our guide since he’s been exploring and living in this place for fifteen years. He knows it like the back of his hand and, since I’m still developing and growing as a person, new things keep popping up for him to explore so he never feels bored. Aren’t I a good host for your soul?” she teased.

“The best one,” he chuckled, following her lead.

“Come, let’s go join the gang, before they end up thinking we had sex again.”

Laughing, he followed her towards the ice cream cone trees, milkshake waterfall, cotton candy bushes, sprinkle grass with sugar canes and lollipops and three chocolate Jacuzzis, where all of his horcruxes were gathered in the same one, deep in conversation and gnawing on chocolate bunnies.

Gaunt spotted them first. “Oh, look who came to join us,” he remarked sarcastically, “we were certain it would take you longer.”

“Have you managed to make Cup feel at home?” asked Aya instead, completely ignoring the teasing comment.

“We have and we also managed to tell him an abbreviated version of the last three and a half years with you, so he doesn’t feel lost,” replied Tom.

“That’s good. Before the night is out,” she turned to the cup and addressed him, “we have to find a name for you. Voldemort and I went through some of them and I hope you’ll like at least one of the suggestions.”

He nodded.

“Splendid, well, while I go hunt two rabbits for Voldemort and myself, do make room for two more, will you.” She turned to Voldemort. “Which bunny would you like to try? White, milk or dark chocolate?”

He wasn’t really sure what the differences between each type were, so he said, “The one you’re having.”

“The milk chocolate one, then. That one has gooey caramel inside. Make yourself comfortable, I won’t be long,” she said before she was off.

They looked after her for a few moments, before Marvolo said, “Do join us, oh, you poor, unfortunate, lost soul.”

He glared at him, before sitting between Ramses and Cup. There was an awkward silence between them, none of them knowing what to say.

“So,” began Marvolo tentatively under his breath, “since Aya will be shopping for a dress tomorrow, will you take the time and do some research on alternative ways to gain immortality?”

They all glanced in Aya’s direction to make sure she wasn’t within hearing range. Once they were certain she didn’t hear them, Voldemort answered. “I will, but I hope you don’t expect me to find a solution tomorrow.”

The youngest trio rolled their eyes. “Of course not,” they whispered. “But try to gather some useful literature to study at the very least,” said Tom.

They had to cut their conversation short, because Aya was returning with her two catches. “Here,” she handed one bunny to Voldemort while she squeezed between Cup and Voldemort. “Your bunny.”

The creature was still alive and squirming. He held onto it, not sure, how it worked.

“Just bite into it,” said Gaunt casually, “it’ll stop squirming once you eat its head and insides.”

While Voldemort tried to figure out how on Earth to eat the damned chocolate bunny, Aya turned to Cup to establish a conversation with him. “So, how are you feeling?” She bit one of the rabbit’s ears off.

“Good … I suppose,” he answered with uncertainty.

“As long as you don’t feel awful, that’s good.” She took another bite. “And do you also have any special ability or power?”

“Depends on what you classify as special ability or power,” he replied.

“Well, Tom can transfer souls, and all of them minus Moriarty can create protective force fields,” she enumerated. “Do you do anything similar?”

“When you put it like that, yes, I do have a trick or two in my repertoire,” he said smugly. “For example, I can detoxify poisons if they appear in the cup or turn harmless liquids into poison. I can also make any drink or food taste infinitely better than if you eat it from other regular containers.”

“Awesome,” she said, awed. “And can anybody drink from you or just Voldemort?”

“For now, just my original self, however, if you’d like we can make an arrangement for you and any descendants that you two will have.”

“Yes, please,” she said enthusiastically, “because I want to test if your claim about making everything taste better is true.”

After soaking in the chocolate for a while, they settled on the grass and began playing cards. During the first game, Aya brought up the possible names for the cup again. She thought he would go for either the Aztec or Maya option for the winged serpent, or even the Egyptian serpent of chaos, but no, he went for the impromptu idea she had. However, as long as he liked it, she supposed it didn’t matter much.

With that, they officially welcomed Cthulhu into their fold.

…

At breakfast the following day, Aya did her experiment with Cthulhu. She tried three different liquids (water, juice and tea) first from a normal cup or glass and then from the horcrux. Cthulhu was right; he could indeed make all three liquids taste multiple times better than other containers. He even managed to make the flavourless water taste good somehow. After the liquids, she tried eating eggs and the leftover tiramisu from the night before and both tasted scrumptiously.

“You know what, Cthulhu, your soul container just might have become my favourite dish to drink and eat from,” she announced importantly.

“I told you,” he retorted smugly.

She couldn’t really test the claim to turn harmless drinks into poison or make poison completely harmless, but she was sure that eventually she will get her opportunity. After all, patience was a virtue and she knew how to be patient when it mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about the Demon Lord Regalia, here's a picture of what Aya was referring to:  
>   
> (NOTE: Neither of the pictures are mine. I found them both while browsing Google Images. The credit for them goes to their respective artists/creators.)
> 
> Also, the quotes from "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu, I got them from Goodreads, because unfortunately, I don't own a copy, so I can't even specify the page numbers and if all the quotes appear in the same book version because there are a lot of translation editions. I will leave you the link to the quotes page if you're interested in checking it out, but as you will see, some quotes repeat themselves and the same thing might appear written in a different wording, but the idea is basically the same.  
> "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu quotes: https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3200649-s-nz-b-ngf


	7. In Body, Mind & Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort starts looking into alternative methods of immortality and Aya starts working on her proposal for educational reform, just before embarking on a shopping odyssey with her husband's horcruxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter! 😊

“I’ll be going now,” said Voldemort, rising to his feet, when they finished breakfast. “Do you need me to get you anything else while I’m at Diagon Alley or just muggle money?”

She took a moment to think about it. “No, nothing else comes to mind,” she concluded.

“And how much money should I convert?”

Aya quickly ran the clothing articles she planned to buy in her mind and maybe even a pair of shoes to go with the dress, and if she was lucky enough to run into a sale and get thirty, forty or even fifty percent discounts, she might get through quite cheap, around fifty to seventy pounds. However, what if she found more than one beautiful dress and couldn’t decide for one even with the help of horcruxes? It had happened to her in the past, it could definitely happen again, and if she ended up buying more than she had intended or if she wasn’t lucky enough to get any discounts, she should probably have more money with her … just to be on the safe side.

“Around one hundred and one hundred and twenty-five pounds should be more than enough, so, twenty to twenty-five galleons,” she answered.

“Just what do you intend to buy that would cost that much money?” wondered Voldemort, confused.

“A dress and a pair of sandals,” she told him simply, “but I don’t know how expensive or cheap they are going to be and if I end up liking more than one dress or pair of sandals I need to make sure I have enough money for everything. I’m counting on discounts, but I don’t want to rely too much on them.”

He sighed. “Alright. And while I’m there, I want to try something too.”

“What?”

“I’m going to take some bank notes and coins we found yesterday in the safe with me to see if there is anything that can be done about them. It would be a waste if they just lay around. At least the coins can be melted and reforged either into knuts, sickles, galleons or even valid muggle coins.”

Aya’s face illuminated. “That sounds great. I like your idea,” she praised excitedly and Voldemort felt good being praised by his wife. He never thought her praise would mean this much to him, but he felt warm and fuzzy on the inside every time she was pleased with him, his ideas, actions and words.

He went to his study to open the safe and take some money from it, then, returned downstairs to the foyer, where Aya was waiting for him to send him off properly to the bank. She wrapped him in a loving hug. “Safe trip, darling,” she said, smiling lovingly, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You make it sound like I’m going to the other side of the world for a week instead of Diagon Alley for half an hour or so,” he grinned amused; nevertheless, he returned both the hug and the kiss.

She laughed. “Either way, take care, darling.” She kissed him again, gently rubbing his chest and shoulders.

He continued smiling into their kiss. “I will,” he assured her, enjoying her touch. When they separated, he glamoured himself and apparated away. Aya stared at the place where he was standing just a moment ago for a bit, before letting out a sigh.

“Now what?” she wondered aloud.

She could start doing research for her educational reform proposal, but looking for and reading extensive articles on a phone screen was really awkward and tedious, that’s why a laptop or a personal computer was much better for such things. If anything, she could probably at least start writing the outline for the proposal, the number and order of chapters as well as their content. She could also start reading the book she bought on Thursday. However, first, she was going to check up on Winky and Kreacher to see how they were doing and if they needed anything.

“Everything is fine, Mistress,” they said in unison, when she asked them.

Excusing herself, she went to the bedroom to take the book, a notebook and a pen. Then, she went to the living room and made herself comfortable on the sofa. With the notebook and pen in hand, she wrote down the work title for her project ‘ _Proposal for Magical Educational Reform_ ’. Below it, she started making an outline of the contents page.

  1. _Introduction_



_Explain briefly the overall structure of the proposal as well as the focus of each individual chapter. Explain what the objective and purpose of the proposal is._

  1. _Child Development_



_Explain what it is, enumerate and present main areas of development, the different stages at different ages. Include different authors that researched how children develop (namely Piaget, but also Vygotsky, Erikson, Freud). Explain why all teachers should be aware of this and why public education should structure the curriculum and teaching methods around it._

  1. _Memory_



_Definition. Types of memory. Information processing. Forgetting (why and how we forget) – Ebbinghaus’ forgetting curve. The importance of memory in teaching and learning. Ways to improve retention of information. (Learning strategies – maybe a separate chapter or move to another chapter?)_

  1. _Teaching and Learning_



_Definition of both terms and division into subchapters: 4. 1. Teaching and 4. 2. Learning. In the former, focus on teaching methods (types of methods, which ones are appropriate for which age, which methods are traditional and which methods are modern/contemporary) and examination, and in the latter, focus on types of learning and multiple intelligence theory. (Learning strategies?)_

  1. _Learning disabilities and other disorders that affect learning_



_Definition. Types of disabilities (describe each one; provide signs and symptoms as well as strategies to help students overcome them)._

  1. _Areas of change_



_Enumerate all the things that need to change in the current school system in Magical Britain, provide reasons and arguments why they are problematic (if possible try to back it up with studies – problem: there are no studies pertaining the magical students, only muggle students), then suggest a solution or an alternative that would take into account previously discussed topics._

_From general (entire system –mostly in regards to the structure (introduction of magical kindergarten and primary school, financing), school curriculum (renaming/adding/removing/fusing/separating school subjects, transportation, houses, uniforms, inclusion of students and parents – Student Council, Class Representatives, Board of Parents – etc.) to specific (changes within subjects – limited changes since I’m not the expert of all the subjects)._

  1. _Conclusion_



_Briefly summarise every chapter and main thoughts of the paper._

  1. _References_



_A comprehensive, alphabetical list of all the sources used in the paper (APA citation style)_

She gave her outline a quick look. It was a good base; she might play around a bit with chapter titles and the order as she started writing, she might add or remove things, but at least she had a structure to work with.

Glancing at the clock on her phone, she noticed it was about twenty-five minutes since Voldemort had left, so, if he was lucky, he might get here very soon. Still, she stretched her neck, shoulders and arms, and picked up the book on imbuing magic into clothes and began reading it.

…

He apparated in Knockturn Alley to make a quick trip to a couple of bookshops and stores he knew from his youth stored books that dealt with Dark Arts, immortality being one of the topics. It had been a while since he read the books on immortality and most of his reading came from Hogwarts library anyway, therefore, he didn’t remember many of the titles he searched at some point at the top of his head.

He browsed through contents pages of multiple books to see if the topic was featured in it, but aside from _Magick Moste Evile_ and _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , where horcruxes and Elixir of Life were mentioned, there wasn’t anything else. He was already familiar with the two methods and he wasn’t particularly fond of neither.

He wasn’t fond of horcruxes for Aya for the reasons he mentioned to his own horcruxes and while, at first sight, the Elixir of Life seemed like a good alternative to horcruxes, aside from making one immune to death by disease and old age, it didn’t prevent you from aging and dying from mortal wounds and blood loss. Unless there was a change made in the formula of the potion itself to give the drinker youth and absolute immortality, and not have to drink the potion constantly, he wouldn’t use it, because that was another shortcoming of the potion at the moment, complete dependence on it to remain alive once you’ve passed your natural life span limit.

He had the stone he got from Aya a few years back, he could experiment with it and the potion formula … the problem was that it would take a long time to perfect everything and it would be a pain to test it along the way. Because without test subjects, how would he know he was doing it right? He couldn’t test it on himself because he was already immortal through horcruxes, he couldn’t test it on Aya, because he would have to attempt to kill her in order to see if his potion worked and he definitely didn’t want to risk losing her just to test a developing formula. Ethically speaking it also wouldn’t be okay if he snatched people off the streets and subjected them to his experiments. Not that he was all that concerned about moral and ethical qualms of the issue, however, if the public somehow noticed and became suspicious and thought he was involved, with or without proof, he would never have full support of the general public once he came to power and became the ruler of magical Britain. Even if he used criminals for the experiments, was he really willing to give a criminal the gift of absolute immortality, if he succeeded in adjusting the formula? No, no he wasn’t. Therefore, the stone and, consequentially, the Elixir of Life, and any adjustments to the formula, were not a good enough alternative to horcruxes as a way to reach immortality.

Giving up after roughly thirty minutes, he concluded he would have to search foreign texts, because the British were very limited in the choice and efficiency departments and since Dark Arts were taboo, there weren’t many readily available English translations of foreign texts either. He would have to revisit some of the texts he came across during his search for a body, but it would have to be on another occasion, because as much as he would have liked to spend more time searching, he didn’t want to rouse suspicion. And he didn’t want to say anything to Aya unless he was completely certain he had a method to achieve absolute immortality that wasn’t painful and that didn’t require losing a limb, an organ, one’s life, splitting one’s soul, consuming human flesh, drinking blood and other similarly disgusting things.

Without further ado, he went to Gringotts and spoke with Griphook about the old muggle paper money and coins. While Gringotts was more than happy to take the muggle coins to melt and reforge them into wizarding currency, Griphook told him the bank couldn’t do much with expired muggle paper notes. They could contact someone from the Bank of England to try to exchange the expired notes for valid ones, but he would have to check first.

After converting twenty-five galleons into muggle money, Voldemort apparated back home and spotted Aya sitting on the sofa in the living room, immersed in a book. He approached her, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m home, dearest,” he whispered.

She started a bit, but as soon as she saw and heard him, her face split into a dazzling smile. “Welcome back, darling.”

He tilted her head back and planted a kiss on her lips, before glancing at the book she was reading in his absence. “What are you reading?” he made his way around, sat next to her and she snuggled into his side. He immediately wrapped an arm around her.

With a finger marking the page she was currently on, she closed the book to show him the cover. “A guidebook for imbuing magic into clothes through knitting, sewing and embroidery,” she answered in an upbeat tone. “If I can make clothes resistant to water, mud, fire and oil, in addition to protecting them from jinxes, hexes and curses, I won’t have to worry about cleaning them or someone hurting our children through certain magical means at the very least.”

He nodded, only to frown in confusion a moment later. “But if you make clothes water resistant, how are you going to refresh them?”

“I believe there’s an ‘air wash’ function on muggle washing machines, or I can do it the old-fashioned way by hanging the clothes over a clothesline and beating them with a rug beater to keep them fresh,” she said casually. “Oh, and don’t worry, once I get the hang of everything, I’ll also make clothes for you as well. I know you’re immortal, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt or dirty, so, with my special clothes, you won’t have to worry about most of that,” she assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Voldemort chuckled. “I’m looking forward to your creations then, you did promise me more handmade clothing in your birthday letter last year.” He nuzzled and kissed her temple. She smiled, her eyes fluttering shut, enjoying the gesture.

“How was your trip to Gringotts?” she asked him.

“It was fine,” he said. “Gringotts will take the coins, but they will check with their contact at the Bank of England to see what can be done about paper notes.”

“Nice,” she said, smiling.

“When are you going to go shopping?”

Aya looked at the clock on her phone; it was 10:18. “Well, it’s Saturday; so, I think that most shops close earlier than throughout the week, therefore, if I don’t want to be in a hurry, I should probably start getting ready to leave now,” she said, bookmarking the book with the pen, setting it aside and rising to her feet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered from the sofa.

“No, because I want to surprise you with my dress,” she told him, “but I will have your horcruxes keep me company and give advice.”

She went to grab her bag and her wallet, and placed her phone, Tom, Ramses and Cthulhu inside. She returned to the sitting room, where Voldemort passed her the muggle money. She thanked him.

“Say, Voldemort, is it hot outside?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I’m considering taking a bottle of water with me.” She thought for a bit. “I should probably also put on some sunscreen, but I don’t think I packed it with my stuff. Fingers crossed I won’t have to spend too much time in the sun, but you never know.”

She went to the kitchen to find and fill a bottle with water. In addition, she also informed the elves she was going shopping and told them not to rush with lunch, since she was going to come back around two in the afternoon.

After her trip to the toilet, Voldemort joined her in the foyer to do the same she did with him an hour ago.

“Safe trip,” he said mischievously, echoing her words and pulling her into an embrace.

“Thank you,” she returned, grinning and hugging back. “I’ll try not to take too long or go too crazy with my shopping.”

They kissed chastely. “Do you have everything you need with you?”

“Aha.”

“Then, take care; drink lots of water so you don’t end up suffering a heatstroke.”

“I will make sure to stay hydrated,” she assured him and kissed him again. They let go of each other after that, and Voldemort watched her cross the threshold and leave.

Sighing, he returned to the living room to leaf through the book she was reading and noticed a notebook next to it. He looked through it and found it almost completely empty, except for what looked to be an outline for Aya’s proposal. He looked it over and it sounded interesting. He was definitely looking forward to reading the final product.

Returning the notebook to its place on the coffee table, Voldemort called for Winky to tell her to call Barty for him. Not long after, Barty joined him in the sitting room.

“Is something the matter, my Lo–,” he caught himself falling into his old habit and quickly correcting himself to, “father?”

Voldemort gestured him to join him on the sofa. “I need you to help me gather some foreign texts on immortality,” he told him.

“Okay,” he agreed, confused, “though I don’t understand why. As far as I know, you already are immortal.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for Aya.”

Understanding dawned on Barty. “Does she know you’re looking into making her immortal?”

“No, and I don’t want her to know until I’ve found a good and effective method to do it, nothing disgusting or painful.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up, though … I’m not sure how far we can get before I leave for Hogwarts,” he grimaced uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about that,” assured him Voldemort. “Just accumulate as many texts as you can and I’ll do the reading myself. I also don’t want you to stop doing your work. When you find the time, look for what I asked you.”

“I will,” returned Barty.

A tapping sound caught their attention. There was an owl outside the window, carrying a message inside her beak. Voldemort waved his wand and the window opened. The owl immediately flew in and landed on the table in front of him. He took the envelope and summoned some treats for the owl.

He opened it and read the message inside. It was from his contact at St. Mungo’s, who expressed his readiness to give a false diagnosis, but wanted to speak in detail and in person. Tearing out a blank page from Aya’s notebook and borrowing her pen, he wrote a reply telling him to leave tomorrow free and to come to the main market in Little Hangleton at ten o’clock in the morning. He’ll have someone pick him up to accompany him to the meeting place.

Making sure only the addressee could read the message; he handed the letter to the owl and sent her off to her owner.

Just as the owl left through the window, Nagini slithered into the sitting room.

“ _Nagini,_ ” he greeted and let her wrap herself around his torso and shoulders. “ _I haven’t seen you in days, where have you been?_ ”

“ _In the garden, either sleeping, sunbathing or catching food_ ,” she replied.

“ _I know it’s summer and you like the heat and the sun, but you could have come inside during the night at least_.”

“ _I was trying to be considerate and let you and your mate have some time alone after feeling frustrated and miserable for an entire month_ ,” explained Nagini. “ _I can tell you two have been very busy mating even though you are already expecting hatchlings_. _The nest is full of you two’s mating scent_.”

Voldemort chuckled. “ _About that. Nagini, Aya and I are having triplets. Three hatchlings_.”

Nagini lifted her head in surprise. “ _Three hatchlings! Three new speakers in the nest! How wonderful and exciting! Can I watch over them, whenever you and your mate will be too busy mating?_ ” she hissed excitedly.

“ _I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange something_ ,” he said, amused.

 “ _Oh, and I really want to teach them how to hunt food, it’s a very useful skill to have, even for human hatchlings_.”

“ _You can teach them hunting skills when they are old enough to speak, understand, and walk properly_ ,” he said. “ _When they are_ a _round five years old, approximately_.”

“ _That long?_ ”

“ _Yes, that long_.”

She let out a hissy sigh and lowered her head on his shoulder again, pouting. Voldemort chuckled again at her reaction and gently petted her head.

…

“Damn it’s hot,” she complained under her breath not five minutes after leaving the house, fanning herself. Even a short summer dress was too hot to be outside it would seem. “It’s a good thing I packed some water with me.” She took a sip from the bottle.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Tom.

“First, we see what Little and Great Hangleton have to offer in terms of dresses and if I don’t find anything that I like, we’ll go to the nearest larger town or city and hope for the best.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” commented Gaunt. “And what exactly are you looking for in terms of dresses?”

“In terms of shape and length, I’m looking for a vintage, knee-length, A-line dress from the fifties or sixties, I would say, but I’m open to trying other designs as well. As long as it looks flattering on me and the price is below fifty pounds, I’m not really that picky.”

“And the colour?” prompted Marvolo.

“Because I’m quite pale, I need dark colours. So, I was thinking either wine red, emerald green or royal blue. Surprisingly, white with floral design in those colours or a combination of black and white would work as well. I mean, I am wearing a white summer dress with dark blue floral print and I look great,” she complimented herself. “Anything beige or pastel is going to make me look washed out. What do you say?”

She glanced at all five horcruxes.

“Emerald green,” they said in unison.

She chuckled. “Of course, you would choose green.”

“And silver sandals,” added Ramses.

“And if they have a snake print, all the better,” added Cthulhu.

Of course, they were trying to dress her in Slytherin colours. She might not be a fan of the houses, but Salazar Slytherin was still Voldemort’s ancestor, just like how Godric Gryffindor was hers.

“If I find beautiful silver sandals with snake print that are below fifty pounds, I will buy them, but if not, I’m either going for gold, black, white or beige sandals.”

“Fair enough,” said Tom.

With that, she walked into the only clothes and shoe shop in Little Hangleton. The shop was small and while it featured a variety of brands and had underwear, socks, trousers, shirts and even a few dresses, sandals, boots and trainers, it was evident to Aya after ten minutes of browsing that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for in there. At least the prices were low. However, what good were low prices, when the material and the design of clothes and shoes resembled and felt like something you would wear to the beach and not to a party.

She thanked the shop assistant and left the shop.

“One place down, I don’t know how many to go,” breathed Aya. She looked for the first road sign that would tell her in which way Great Hangleton was and how far it was.

“Six miles?!” she exclaimed as she gazed upon the sign, shielding her eyes from the sun. “How the fuck am I supposed to get there?” she wondered. “I can’t possibly go on foot in this infernal heat and even if it wasn’t hot, it would take me forever to get there on foot.”

She took out her phone and started searching for a means of transport she could use.

“Hm … it seems there’s a local bus line that covers both Hangletons,” she said pensively. “But there aren’t many buses on Saturdays. However … there seems to be a rental bicycle system available. Interesting, I’ve never seen anything like it before.” She read further into it, to understand how the system worked.

“It looks like you can rent a bicycle for as long as you like, however, each hour cost you one pound. You just have to visit the closest terminal, choose the amount of rental time, pay in coins, choose one of the available bikes and you’re set to go. Nice. Now, I only need to find the nearest rental bike station. ”

Consulting the online map, she found a station near the supermarket. There were dozen little poles lined up, some were empty and some had bikes.  “So, this is how they look like,” she observed. “I was wondering why the bicycles were numbered and why they all looked the same.”

She followed the instructions on the screen. Luckily, there were two available bicycles. “For how long should I rent the bike?” she asked the horcruxes.

“I would say three to four hours,” said Marvolo.

“Then four … just in case I end up spending more time shopping than anticipated.” She selected four hours, paid four pounds and selected one of the available bikes.

After making a quick trip to the supermarket to buy a sunscreen and applying it all over her arms and legs, face and neck, she made her way to Great Hangleton.

It took her a little over twenty minutes to get there. On the way, about halfway, Cthulhu had a question.

“If it’s a dress you need, you’re wearing one right now. Why can’t you just go to the party in the dress you’re wearing?”

“I agree, Cthulhu,” she said sagely, “it’s a really nice dress. It doesn’t look cheap, even though it was, because I only paid nine pounds for it, and you can wear it every day, to the beach, even to a party. The problem is,” she sighed, “that it’s a tiny bit too short. It’s not a problem while I’m standing, because it reaches the middle of my thighs, it becomes a problem when I’m sitting or just bending down, because it rides up to my butt and I feel like my panties are showing, and I’ll have you know, I don’t want to show panties to anyone except my husband. So, unless I wear tight short shorts that almost resemble women boxers, I would feel slightly uncomfortable wearing this to a public event. That’s why a knee-length dress is preferable. Even now, as I’m riding this bike, I feel like my panties will start showing any second with all this cycling and breeze.”

After reaching the outskirts of the town, she kept cycling until she reached the shopping centre. She found a bike station nearby, locked it, made sure it was unavailable for others, because she didn’t want to come back and find it gone, then began walking towards the shops.

She walked into the first clothes shop she spotted and immediately noticed the difference in size and selection as well as quality … though, since it was summer, most of the material was thin almost see-through, and the dresses were horrid. They lacked structure and the look she was going for.

“They want fifty pounds for a dress I wouldn’t want to wear even to the beach?” she exclaimed under her breath, completely scandalised. “Are they crazy?” She scoffed. “They can have their fifty pounds, because I wouldn’t buy this one even if it was under five.”

The horcruxes laughed under their breaths at her comment.

She moved onto the next shop and her attention was immediately drawn to the T-shirt stand. “Oh my God, look, so cute,” she squealed, when she saw all the different cute designs and amazing quotes … and each one was only four pounds.

“I have to buy at least one,” she announced. “And if I’m buying for myself, I have to buy one for Voldemort too. The problem is which size to buy, because he’s tall but thin and I fear that if I buy the large or extra-large size, it might suit him length wise, but width wise … it will look like a rubbish bag on him.”

“Uh … I’m not sure he would wear it,” said Marvolo sceptically.

“It’s not really his style,” added Gaunt.

“He can wear it as pyjamas,” said Aya, until she remembered, “oh, wait … he sleeps naked. Well, he can wear it around the house when it’s just the elves and us, so no one sees him wearing anything cute.”

“Aya, don’t lose focus,” reminded her Tom. “Remember, you came here to look for a dress and a pair of sandals, not five items more.”

“I know, but … I can’t. Just look at all this cuteness and, look, here’s a T-shirt with my life’s motto on it: _When life gives you lemons make lemonade_. It has my name written all over it. Or this one: _You make me feel good_.”

“It’s _p_ eel not _f_ eel,” corrected Cthulhu.

She looked at the quote that surrounded a half-peeled banana again. “Oh, you’re right. I just saw the banana and my mind automatically went to sexual imagery, you know, because the banana is a phallic symbol and Voldemort’s _diugh_ makes me feel good, so it would be fitting to wear it to bed or in his presence.”

“You and your perverted mind,” sighed Gaunt.

“What’s the _diugh_?” wanted to know Cthulhu, confused.

“Dick,” replied Marvolo.

“Oh,” deadpanned Cthulhu.

“Yes, ‘oh’ is the right reaction,” said Tom.

Aya chose the banana and lemonade T-shirts, surprisingly in large, and was now deciding whether she should get something watermelon or ice cream related for Voldemort.

“I still say you shouldn’t get any of these for him,” said Marvolo, “if you already have to buy him something, buy him something morbid and sinister.”

“Or something formal and elegant,” suggested Ramses.

She went to the men’s section and began looking through T-shirts and shirts. She almost gave up, when she suddenly spotted the perfect thing for Voldemort. It was a black, grey and white shirt with snake print all over it. It came in Nagini’s pattern and colour too and she wasn’t sure which one would suit him more. Again, she consulted with the horcruxes, and even held the shirts next to their faces to see which colour was better.

“I think the brown one is better,” she concluded after a thorough analysis, “because the other one would be too similar to his skin tone and he would have the same problem as me of looking washed out by the shirt. Let’s see how much it is … 19.99 with a 30% discount already included … not bad. The problem now is the size.”

She tried using the horcruxes as her models, especially Ramses since he was the eldest and was more similar in height and width to Voldemort than Tom, Gaunt, Marvolo and even Cthulhu, though it would have been easier if Voldemort was here, trying it on in person.

In the end, she decided to go with the medium size and would just come and change the size later, if it was too small or too big on him. She decided to check out if they had matching trousers to have a set and she found one in the same colour and pattern as the shirt and she picked the one that she thought would fit him the most, without being too loose around the waist or too tight.

Since she was already at the shop, she decided to check out the bras as well.

“Aya, if you buy a bra as well, you will go past the fifty-pound mark and you haven’t even bought what you came here to buy yet,” said Tom exasperatedly.

“But … my boobs …” she protested, pouting adorably, “they need support and I’m running low on bras that fit.”

He face-palmed himself. “Just come here next week or something and buy it then.”

“Or better yet,” added Cthulhu, “bewitch an already existing one with a self-resizing charm. That should save you the money and troubles.”

“Fine,” she huffed, “but I can’t use my wand outside of Hogwarts, because of the trace. If I do magic, the Ministry will immediately know my location.”

“Then ask Voldemort to do it for you,” said Gaunt.

With the four articles of clothing she picked out, she went to the till to pay for her purchase. As the cashier said, “That will be 49.96 pounds,” Tom was commenting again.

“See how close you are to fifty pounds? And you still wanted to add another ten for a bra.”

She paid in cash, left the shop, and went to the next one. This one seemed to have a much wider and better selection of dresses, even in emerald-green. She began collecting any dress that resembled what she had in mind and a few other designs as well, then with ten different green dresses, she went into a changing cabin and started trying them on, only to immediately rule out the first four.

“This one makes you look like a grandmother with all that lace,” commented Cthulhu, and the other horcruxes just agreed with him, sagely nodding their heads with crossed arms.

“Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Aya as well.

“This one looks like a rubbish bag on you,” said Gaunt for the second dress she tried. Again, they unanimously agreed it looked bad on her.

“This one makes you look like you’re wearing a clown costume,” mentioned Marvolo for the third dress.

“If only the V-neck line wasn’t so deep,” complained Aya about the fourth one. “Look, it comes all the way down to my bra and if I lean forward too much, I feel like my boobs will fall out of the dress. The rest of it is fine.”

It was a pain to unzip and zip the dresses without help. “Dammit,” she breathed, slightly winded, perspiration collecting on her forehead, her cheeks flushed, “why can’t at least one of you have a physical body so you could help me with the zippers,” she complained, contorting and attempting to unzip the fourth dress to try on six more.

A cramp was already starting in her left palm. “Now I wish I brought Voldemort with me. And because he doesn’t have a phone, I can’t even call him to apparate near the store so he could help me.” She let out a sigh. “I hope the rest are easier to manoeuvre, because I can’t with this shit anymore.”

She barely managed to pull the fifth one over her hips and even then, the skirt didn’t leave her a lot of space for walking. “Reminds me of the dress I wore to the Yule Ball, but that one looks more flattering on me than this one,” grimaced Aya, “maybe because that one is a long dress and this one isn’t.”

The sixth one finally showed some promise. The front had a slight V-neck, but unlike the fourth one, this one didn’t show too much and the fitted bodice and skirt that flared outwards flattered her figure. A strap that ran across the stomach area accentuated the waistline.

The seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth all looked very similar. The differences were in the shape and depth of the neckline, the presence or absence of sleeves, and the ways the designers chose to accentuate the waistline. The seventh, ninth and tenth all had a green ribbon going around the circumference of the waist, while the eighth one had a strap melded into the dress itself, and seventh, eighth and tenth dresses all had minimal short sleeves, while the ninth had shoulder straps.

Now came the most difficult part, aside from changing from one dress to the other, deciding which of the four she should buy. Luckily, all four were in a similar price range ranging from 20 to 28 pounds.

She asked the horcruxes for their opinion, because she couldn’t decide on her own. Because, if it were up to her, she would buy all four of them, all in different colours of course, but she didn’t have the budget for it. The horcruxes managed to narrow it down to two, number eight and ten, until ultimately the former won.

It wasn’t the cheapest of the bunch, but also not the most expensive one, it cost 24.99 with no discount which was a good deal in Aya’s mind. She left the cabin, feeling like she just ran the marathon, but instead of feet, her shoulders and hands ached.

With the dress secured, she headed to the shoe shop and went straight to the sandal section. She was trying to find something that didn’t have a heel or that had a small heel, but would still fulfil the requirements she had in mind, but the straps were either too wide or too thin, or there were barely any straps or so many you got entangled in them. Alternatively, if you had Aya’s feet, which were quite thin, the straps felt too loose most of the time and the feet were having a party inside the sandals.

“I might as well buy flats then,” huffed Aya, dissatisfied with the selection of flat sandals.

Inevitably, she wondered into the high-heels section and lamented herself when she found the perfect pair of stiletto platform sandals, but felt that the heel was too big for her to walk in pregnant. They weren’t silver, but they had snake print on them and they came in either black and white or beige.

She ventured further to see if she could find flattering snake print full-heel platform sandals that weren’t too tall or a thin heel that was below 3.5 inches, and after a lot of digging, she found a pair of beige snake skin sandals with a three-inch heel, and it was also on sale for 12.49 with a 50% discount included. When she tried it on, the toe strap fit the width of her leg nicely and without any further ado, she bought them.

She was about to call it a day when she saw it was quarter to two, but since she planned to wear bronze smoky eye with a nude lip, blush, highlighter and a rosy nude nail polish, she headed to the nearest drugstore. She already had blush, mascara, highlighter, foundation and setting powder from the Yule Ball; she just needed the nail polish, lipstick or gloss, and the appropriate eyeshadow to complete her make-up.

She went for the cheapest polish as well as lipstick and eyeshadow. She wasn’t a beauty guru, she didn’t care that much about the quality of products, but she did care about the price and even though she had slightly over thirty pounds at her disposal, she also didn’t want to waste _everything_ today.

At exactly two o’clock, she was back at her rented bike.

…

At around half past two, Voldemort, who had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room reading Aya’s book, woke up to the knocking at the front door. Before he managed to chase away the drowsiness and sleep from his eyes and body, the elves were already opening the door and in came his lovely wife, carrying two bags in each hand.

Wasn’t she going to buy only two items? A dress and a pair of sandals? How did that translate into four shopping bags?

“I’m home, darling,” she announced, sounding incredibly tired, and made her way to the sofa to join him.

“Welcome back, dearest,” he greeted, his voice still groggy, but smiling softly.

She placed the bags on the coffee table, then, plopped down next to him, relaxing into the sofa with closed eyes. She let out a sigh.

“I see you’ve been successful,” observed Voldemort. “More than successful.”

“Yes. But now, my arms and legs feel like they are going to fall off any minute,” she whined in a small voice. “I’m probably going to take a nap after lunch to get some rest, though I’m sure that tomorrow my muscles will be sore as fuck.”

Nagini slithered into her lap. “ _You mustn’t tire yourself too much, otherwise it will affect the hatchlings_ ,” she hissed.

Aya opened her eyes as soon as she felt her and smiled tiredly at the snake. “ _Nagini_ ,” she greeted. “ _I haven’t seen you in a while._ ”

“ _I’ve been keeping away to give you and my hatchling some alone time for mating and cuddling,_ ” answered Nagini.

Aya giggled. “ _Why, thank you. That was very considerate of you, but you don’t have to disappear to give us time and space_.” She petted her head.

“What happened?”

“Ooph,” she let out in a grunt, “a lot happened. It might take a while to tell everything.” Her stomach rumbled.

“You can tell me all about it over lunch,” he proposed, grinning.

“With pleasure, darling,” she smiled back, “but I don’t want to get up from the sofa. Not when I just made myself comfortable.”

“I’ll tell Winky and Kreacher to serve us here,” he said.

After they cleared the coffee table of the bags, Aya’s book and notebook, he called for the elves and told them to serve their lunch. As they brought in the dishes and they made the first few bites, Aya started narrating her shopping odyssey.

“So …” she began, “I first checked the shop here, in Little Hangleton, to see what they had to offer. While the prices were low, I wasn’t really impressed with the selection, so I decided to go to Great Hangleton to see if they had anything better to offer. The problem was the town is six miles away from here, so I needed a way to get there, because I wasn’t going to go on foot.” She huffed indignantly. “I could have used the local bus line, but because it’s Saturday, there are only like four buses during the day and I was not going to waste my time with that shit. I looked a bit more, and found out that Hangleton has a rental bike service. I went to the supermarket, rented a bicycle and cycled to my destination. It took me a little over twenty minutes to get there and because I needed to get back as well, add another twenty-something minutes and you have about forty-five minutes of cycling in a day.”

“Anyway, I got there, and went to three different clothes shops. The first one had nice casual, everyday clothing and awful summer dresses and they were expensive as fuck. They wanted fifty pounds for a dress that I wouldn’t even wear to the beach.”

Voldemort chuckled under his breath.

“The second shop didn’t have dresses, but I found super cute T-shirts and I bought a couple of them for myself.” She reached for the bag that had those T-shirts inside and showed them to him.

“They look nice.”

“I know right?” she said excitedly. “I wanted to buy one for you as well, but the horcruxes said no, so instead of cute T-shirts,” she reached inside the same bag again and pulled out a suit set that looked made out of snakeskin, “I bought you this.”

Voldemort looked and touched the soft fabric, not knowing what to say. He felt … warm and fuzzy on the inside whenever he got a gift from Aya.

“I hope the size is okay, because that was my biggest issue, and there was a black, grey and white version as well, but I thought it would make you look washed out, so I bought this one, and it even looks like Nagini’s pattern, doesn’t it?”

“ _I hope it wasn’t made from a real snake,_ ” commented Nagini warily looking at the clothes.

“ _Don’t worry, Nagini, it’s just a pattern printed onto the fabric_ ,” assured her Aya. She turned to Voldemort. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to bother.”

“Nonsense,” she waved dismissively. “Of course I had to buy something for you and it wasn’t a bother. I love spoiling you.”

He chuckled. “You’re definitely spoiling me, Aya.”

“Try it on,” she encouraged him.

“Here and now?” he inquired with an arched brow.

She shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” she said casually. “It’s not like anyone will suddenly come bursting through the fireplace or the front door while you’re changing.”

The way she phrased it made him think that’s exactly what might happen, but he put on the clothes she bought for him anyway. Luckily, nothing unpredictable and undesirable happened.

“Damn, you look sexy,” she praised, looking him over. “ _What do you think, Nagini?_ ”

“ _It suits him._ ”

“Right? I’m glad I bought it. How does it feel in terms of size? Is it too tight, too loose, or just right? Because if it’s not okay, I can go back on Tuesday to change it for another size.”

“I would say that it’s okay, though more on the loose side.”

“You’ll fill out a bit more in the next few weeks and it will fit you like a glove.”

He laughed, changed back into his usual robes and returned to the sofa.

“You can wear this on Monday, if you want,” she suggested, when he handed her the clothes, so she could put them back into the bag, “or to your Death Eater meetings, or whenever you feel like it honestly.”

“Oh, I will definitely wear it frequently.”

“Excellent. I won’t show you what’s inside the other three bags, because, like I said, I want to surprise you, though; I will say that I wished you were there with me to help me with the zippers, because it was a nightmare getting from one dress to the other and I had to repeat that process _ten times_ ,” she exclaimed. “My hands were getting all cramped up, my shoulders and arms were hurting and I was getting all sweaty in that cabin …” she complained, “and even then, I was struggling between four dresses, but the horcruxes helped so, I have one dress and one pair of sandals, and some make-up.”

They called for the elves again and asked them to take the bags away. When they finished their lunch, Voldemort carried her to their bedroom so she could take a nap.

“Thank you, darling.” She smiled dreamily at his, her head rested on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, dearest.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She nuzzled into his neck and caressed his chest.

During the walk to the bedroom, he told her about his contact at St. Mungo’s and that he told him to come to Little Hangleton tomorrow at ten o’clock to talk about the fake medical report. “I’ll send Barty to pick him up at the market.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed sleepily. “Do you want to nap with me?” she asked, when he placed her gently on the bed.

“I would love to, but I already had a nap today,” he caressed her hair, sitting next to her. “In fact, you woke me up from it when you came back.”

“Oh,” she sounded and looked disappointed.

“But I will be here, watching over you while you sleep,” he leaned forward, his face hovering over hers, a gentle smile on his lips.

That seemed to chase away the sadness from her features and replace it with happiness. “I would love that.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a chaste, gentle kiss. Even after they separated, she kept him close in a hug. He would have stayed like that, if his body were in a less straining position.

“Aya,” he called. She murmured groggily in response. “As much as I like being this close to you, my lower back is starting to hurt.” She immediately released him and he straightened up. He took one of her hands in his and started massaging the palm and slowly moved up her arm.

She let out a sigh of contentment as her eyes closed. “I love you, Voldemort,” she whispered. “So, so much.”

“I know, Aya,” he retorted, regarding her with love reflected in every feature of his face. “I know.”

“Will you wake me up for dinner?”

“I will,” he promised.

Not long after he started his gentle ministrations, Aya fell asleep and the horcruxes manifested around them.

“And …” started Tom, “did you find anything useful?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “No, the books on Knockturn Alley only cover horcruxes and the Elixir of Life, and neither are a good option for Aya, so, I’ve asked Barty to help me look for foreign texts to see if other cultures and their texts will have the answer we need.”

…

“Voldemort,” said Aya tentatively at dinner. He looked at her. “I want us to spend some alone time in either of our mental landscapes.”

“I don’t mind, but have you ever tried to get there without Tom’s help?”

“Uh … no, but I’ve been doing yoga and meditation for a while, I think I can manage if I put effort into it.” She sounded very optimistic.

At bedtime, Aya and Voldemort lay on their backs next to each other, with their hands slightly touching, each concentrating on accessing their own mental landscape first.

The more she concentrated on herself, on her mental landscape, on visualising it, the more she felt like she was floating, surrounded by water, and was sinking deeper and deeper. After a while, the sound of blood rushing in her ears, the buzzing silence and the water flowing by slowly shifted into what sounded like a waterfall in the distance. She also felt something solid beneath her back.

She opened her eyes slowly and saw a bright sky with cotton candy clouds. She sat up and looked around. A smile spread across her face. She did it.

She stood up and hurried to the door she shared with Voldemort’s mental space and knocked. The door opened almost immediately to reveal Voldemort in his suit. He smirked. “I see all that yoga and meditation paid off.”

She giggled. “I know, even I’m impressed with my yoga and meditation skills.”

He pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

“Voldemort?” she said tentatively, playing with the lapels of his suit. He murmured, his chin resting on her head, his arms still around her waist. “Since you already saw my landscape, I think I should see yours this time round.”

He gestured towards it. “Be my guest.”

She crossed the threshold, and her glowing form disappeared and transformed into sexy, emerald see-through lingerie while multiple holographic Dark Marks appeared all over her body.

“I was expecting to appear completely naked,” she smirked and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, believe me, I prefer you naked as well,” he assured her, lust glistening like liquid fire in his red eyes as he took in the sight in front him, “but I can’t deny the appeal of seeing you wear provocative clothing such as this. It adds to the thrill of undressing you.” He traced one of the marks on her skin.

Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch and goosebumps erupted on her skin. His other arm pulled her flush against him, and he nuzzled her neck. “ _It feels like I’m unwrapping a gift every single time I take off your clothes to make you mine,_ ” he whispered into her ear, before tracing it with his forked tongue.

She let out a whimper and melted into him. “ _When you put it like that_ ,” she said breathlessly, feeling slightly light-headed due to his words, voice and scent … but in a good way, “ _then I return the sentiment._ ”

His lips met hers in a searing kiss and before they knew it, Voldemort was grabbing her by the ass, picking her up and carrying her to a very comfortable and spacious loveseat, where they made love.

…

“Well, now we know it’s possible to have soul sex,” commented Voldemort, resting on the loveseat, with Aya snuggled into his side, their legs intertwined.

She giggled. “Indeed.” She looked at him. “Now I can say I’m yours in body, mind and soul.”

His deep and rich laughter filled her ears. “I suppose this makes it quite literal, yes.” Looking and smiling softly at her, he added, “And that holds true for me as well.”

She captured his lips, before Aya took in his mental landscape, which was a hybrid between a study and a library. It had Slytherin green walls and black furniture with silver accents. Beside the loveseat, there were also a big desk, a chair, and plenty of bookshelves lining the walls. There was even a fireplace, but overall, the space looked quite austere and not very spacious.

When she pointed that out, Voldemort simply smirked and said, “Just like you have more to offer, I have plenty of secrets too, hidden behind secret passageways.”

Aya’s eyes lit up. “Secret passageways. Sounds wonderful and mysterious.”

“What can I say, I’m a very enigmatic man,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief, as his hands glided across her skin.

She giggled and leaned into his touch. “Oh, most definitely.”

Halfway through the night, they went to her mental landscape, where they wanted to indulge in some sex accompanied with food. This time, Aya managed to remove the glow from both of their bodies, so they could fully enjoy their endeavour.

They were in the middle of experimenting with chocolate, when they heard, “I knew I heard something,” said Moriarty, looking completely unfazed by the sight of Voldemort and Aya entangled in each other, half-covered in chocolate. He was also carrying a tray filled with strawberries, blueberries, grapes, raspberries, cherries and watermelon, along with a separate container for honey and whipped cream.

Voldemort and Aya immediately stopped. “Moriarty!” she exclaimed in alarm, shielding her breasts. Voldemort’s grip on her turned more possessive as he glared at a version of himself.

“You don’t have to worry about me, dear,” he said to calm her, completely ignoring his other self’s glare. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves.”

He turned, about to leave, when he remembered something. “Ah, one more thing before I go.” He walked up to them and placed the tray next to them. “Something tells me you will need this.” Then, he stood up and started walking away, waving and smiling with a serene smile. “Enjoy yourselves, while I’m off to catch a strawberry-flavoured yeti.”

Voldemort and Aya blinked after him in different states of confusion, until he disappeared and Aya let out a sigh of relief. “That was unexpected.”

After feeding each other with their mouths for a while, Aya had the brilliant idea to try being a naked human platter. Voldemort was immediately for it. He took great pleasure in spelling his name with the remaining fruit, adding generous amounts of honey and cream, before taking one good look at his creation, his eyes glinting like that of a hungry wolf, licking his upper lip, saying ‘ _Thank you for the meal_ ’ in parseltongue and diving forward to eat and lick everything off her body.

Aya felt turned on from beginning to end. Her arousal only got stronger as he continued to put on more things on her body (even the slightly cool honey and cream). Then, seeing his eyes, so full of desire for her, and feeling his amazing lips and tongue move across her skin, skilfully alternating between kisses and licks, were almost her undoing. More than once, she had the urge to writhe beneath his lips and tongue, but he held her in place as to not waste the food and his effort of arranging everything so meticulously. Instead, she resorted to panting and rubbing her thighs together to make it more bearable, while a string of whimpers and moans of Voldemort’s name mixed with pants and pleas to hurry up and take her fell off her lips.

“Patience, dearest,” he said, grinning wickedly against her skin a little over halfway through his course. “I am just getting started and you mustn’t rush these things, otherwise they won’t taste as good as they do when you take the time to savour them.”

When he reached her inner thighs to lick off the last remnants of honey and cream, Aya was so close to the climax that it only took one contact with that sensitive part of her body, before she was tensing and arching her back off the shaking ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, while her mouth opened in a silent cry of utter pleasure and the sky of her mental landscape filled with colourful fireworks.

Coming off her high, she felt Voldemort cover her sticky body with his. “ _Look at me, Aya_ ,” he hissed softly, supporting himself on the forearms one on each side of her head. She obeyed and looked him in the eyes, still slightly dazed. She could tell he was smug by the way he looked and smirked at her, and she couldn’t think of anything else except how devilishly handsome that expression made him look and how much she loved him, even when he was teasing her like that.

“I hope you still have enough energy for the main course, because if you think the appetizer was mind-blowing, prepare yourself for the rest of the meal.”

She let out a strangled whimper as she felt him tease her with his cock. She spread her legs to grant him better access, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and urged him to enter her. He obliged her and she almost came a second time from just feeling him stretch and fill her with his manhood.

“ _So tight_ ,” he hissed against her lips, “ _I barely put it in and you are already clenching around me so deliciously._ ”

She moaned again. His husky hissing voice and the words he said in parseltongue only made her more aroused. She called his name in a pleading whisper, her eyes glazed with passion.

“ _What is it, my queen?_ ” he hissed back, sheathed balls deep inside her.

“Make love to me.”

Smiling, he caressed her flushed cheeks. “ _I am, Aya, I am,_ ” he assured her. “ _I’m just taking my time with it. Making it nice and slow._ ” He pulled back a bit, and then thrust his hips gently forward. “ _Because I want you to feel every inch of my cock moving inside you and come like that._ ”

Voldemort kept repeating the motion, each time accompanying it with dirty talk.

Before dawn, they experienced a handful of earthquakes of increasing magnitudes and the same amount and scope of fireworks. Yet, instead of feeling exhausted, each orgasm filled them with vigour and vitality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since shopping was a significant part of the chapter, I thought it appropriate to showcase the things Aya bought for herself and Voldemort (especially dress and shoes).  
> Aya:  
> dress: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Homrain-Vintage-Sleeve-Rockabilly-Cocktail/dp/B07S8YZYFK/ref=sr_1_10?qid=1562280116&refinements=p_n_size_two_browse-vebin%3A14223229031&s=clothing&sr=1-10&th=1  
> shoes: 
> 
> Voldemort:  
> shirt: trousers: 


	8. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins open their shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains spoilers for the video game 'Fran Bow' Chapter 2, and the video series 'Don't Hug Me. I'm Scared', which you can find on YouTube. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😄

_Riddle Manor, 7 August 2016, 8:00_

Aya woke up with sore arms and legs from the day before. She let out a groggy groan, shifted in bed, started stretching and out of nowhere her left leg cramped up so viciously it made her breath catch in her chest. She jolted upright, mouth agape and the entire face scrunched up in pain, clutching her calf to ease the pain.

Her sudden movement and reaction alerted Voldemort. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed, sitting up and looking at her leg.

The pain prevented her from breathing freely, much less speaking, so it took her a few moments to answer. “A cramp,” she breathed. “There’s a cramp in my leg and it fucking feels like I’m dying.”

She finally felt it ease up a bit, enough to allow her to take a deep breath. The pain was still present and if she pressed a little too much on the cramped up spot, she felt as if her heart was stopping again. “This is what my bitch ass gets for cycling for forty-five minutes yesterday and going around shops trying on all those dresses,” she complained.

In between her deep, agitated breaths and pained groans, she felt Voldemort’s hands join hers to help her. “I got you,” he assured her in a low, calming voice. “I got you.”

His touch and gentle massage helped a lot, but her calf muscles were still painfully taut, especially if she moved the leg in any direction to change the angle. “Unbelievable. Just when we had such a wonderful night in our mental landscapes, this shit happens.” She winced and grimaced. “At least now you won’t have to fake a medical report,” she said sarcastically. “Just say I’m suffering from terrible leg cramps that render me an invalid for most of the day and you won’t be far off the mark.”

A laugh escaped Voldemort and his eyes were shining with amusement at her words.

Several minutes later, she tried to stand up and walk to the bathroom, but putting weight and pressure on the leg or trying to walk normally proved to be painful, so Voldemort helped her. She limped all the way to the toilet and back, down the corridor and a flight of stairs, until they reached the dining room and she could finally rest her leg at the table.

…

At ten o’clock, Barty went to pick the healer up at the market, while Aya and Voldemort went to the sitting room, where she could continue to rest and nurse her leg.

She massaged the lump a bit.

“Better?” asked Voldemort.

“Slightly. I still feel like my heart will stop from pain if I press too much with my fingers on the lump, but on its own, it’s not bad.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I hope it gets better by evening or by tomorrow, because I don’t want to cancel our attendance because of a fucking cramp.”

“We’ll see what the healer says.”

She nodded and a long-suffering sigh left her lips.

The sound of the front door opening drew their attention to the foyer. Barty, accompanied by a man in his forties with short, dark brown hair and blue eyes, wearing casual clothing, entered the living room.

“Good morning, my Lord, Miss,” he greeted them with a slight bow.

“Good morning, Marcus,” greeted Voldemort from the sofa. He gestured to a seat across from them at the coffee table. “Sit.”

Healer Marcus made himself comfortable.

“Barty, you too,” said Voldemort.

After offering him a drink and asking the elves to prepare three cups of tea and a freshly squeezed orange juice for Aya, the healer spoke. “My Lord, while I’m willing to fake a medical report for you, I must confess your petition left me confused as to the reasoning behind it.”

“It’s quite simple, Marcus,” said Voldemort casually, leaning back, with an arm around Aya’s shoulders, “upon my return, things between Miss Potter-Snape-Black and I got … heated and it resulted in pregnancy.”

Marcus’ eyes widened in surprise and Aya snuggled closer to Voldemort.

“If she attends Hogwarts, people will notice her pregnancy and will probably want to know who the father is. As you can imagine, I can’t allow anyone outside my circle and other personally authorised individuals to know Aya is expecting my children, because aside from learning about my return, they would also probably do everything to kill them. For that reason, she will not attend Hogwarts for the remainder of her education. However, we need a believable reason for her withdrawal. That’s why we believe that withdrawal on the grounds of health reasons would be enough to convince the headmaster and other members of staff and not rouse any suspicion.”

“I see.” He looked from one to the other. “And have you thought about what sort of disease she would have?”

The elves delivered the tea and juice.

“I was hoping you would give us a few suggestions based on your experience and knowledge as a healer,” said Voldemort. “Though we’re looking for an ailment that is long term and that would keep the patient bedridden for days if not even weeks and that, overall, it would hinder them in class and in studying, and it doesn’t have an easy cure.”

“If it helps,” said Aya, “it should probably have frequent episodes of mind-numbing or heart-stopping pain or even seizures, like epilepsy, migraine or even leg cramps.”

“Leg cramps?” he repeated, confused.

“Yeah, I had one just this morning and it was painful as fuck. I’m still feeling the aftereffects.”

“Were you doing any extreme activity this morning?”

“If stretching in bed after waking up is extreme activity, then yes, otherwise no,” she deadpanned. “However, yesterday, I did some cycling and I was on my feet for several hours.”

“Well, I would normally recommend some sort of muscle relaxer cream and massage, but since you’re expecting, I would avoid muscle relaxers of any kind, unless you can find a pregnancy safe option. The massage can stay, but you can also use a compression, either cold or warm to help with the pain.”

“And how long does it take for the muscle to relax completely?”

“Several hours. I would recommend performing a massage every hour for a few minutes, do a bit of stretching, add a compression and it should be gone by morning.”

“That’s good.” She leaned forward to pick up her glass of juice and snuggled back into Voldemort, while taking a good sip.

“As for what you’re asking me, I believe the safest option to go with would be migraines,” said Marcus. “They aren’t all that known in the wizarding community, but from what I know, they are nasty, long term and recurring. You can treat the pain with different painkillers, but the medicine doesn’t take away the condition, and possible aftereffects of a migraine are head pain, difficulties with memory and concentration, mood changes, and weakness. In that sense, if we establish that you have two migraines a week and that each migraine last on average twenty-six hours and leaves you feeling tired and disoriented to the point where you have difficulty performing the most basic daily routine tasks, then I believe we have a plausible case where we can safely argue your withdrawal from school.”

Aya nodded, impressed. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me as well,” said Voldemort, satisfied.

He looked at them. “When would you like me to write the fake report?”

Voldemort and Aya looked at each other.

“Ooph,” sighed Aya, unsure,” I don’t know, we haven’t really discussed it yet, but I would assume there should be a conclusive diagnosis and report by August 15th, when the rest of the staff moves back to Hogwarts for the term,” she proposed.

“Makes sense,” agreed Voldemort. “But I think that, regardless of the date, Dumbledore will probably want to speak with you on the matter,” he said to Marcus. “We just need to make sure that everyone is informed on time about your health condition and that you’re excused from attending Hogwarts physically.”

“Do you think I should inform my friends about this, so if they ask them about me, they can support our narrative?”

“I don’t see why not; maybe even write them a few fake letters detailing your headache experiences so if Dumbledore would like to have a look at them, everything will complement the official medical reports.”

“So, what then?” she wondered. “Do we set the tenth or the eleventh of August as the date of the initial check-up and diagnosis? You prescribe me painkillers to see if they work, and you come back two or three days later to check-up on me again and make your final verdict on my condition, where you issue a statement that because of the severity of it and the crippling aftereffects of migraine headaches on my everyday life you recommend house rest. Or something along those line. You don’t have to quote what I said verbatim in the report.”

“Agreed,” said Marcus. “And should I make visits to where you are supposed to reside to make it believable?”

“Oh, most certainly. We still have to tell the plan to my parents.” She looked at Voldemort. “Should we make the trip to London on the tenth? And while we’re there we can blood adopt Barty too,” she proposed.

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged. “It’s always best to have more things done at once.”

“What do you say, Barty?” she turned to him, who was just taking a sip from his tea. “Are you ready for the ritual?”

“I am fine with whichever date you say,” he replied. “I will do it either way.”

“Then it’s settled,” she said enthusiastically, smiling from ear to ear. She addressed the healer. “We’ll see you on the tenth then, sometime around noon most probably.”

“I will let you know the exact time,” told him Voldemort, “or rather my father-in-law will let you know the time and location.”

“Very well,” he returned with a subtle nod. “Will that be everything?”

“For now.”

Marcus finished the tea and rose to his feet, ready to leave. “Then I’ll be taking my leave,” he said. “If there is anything else you need, my Lord, I’ll be at your service.” He bowed and Barty got up, ready to escort him.

Voldemort acknowledged his words with a nod. The healer turned to Aya and addressed her. “Good luck with your pregnancy, Miss, or should I call you my Lady?”

“Well, in a few months, I’ll stop being a Miss,” she said in an upbeat manner, “so; you might as well start calling me my Lady.”

He chuckled. “As you wish.”

“And thank you for everything,” she added with a heartfelt smile. “It means a lot.”

“It is my duty and pleasure, my Lady,” returned Marcus with a subtle smile.

Barty escorted the man to the front door and returned to the living room, once Marcus had apparated away. Not long after that, Winky appeared to inform them that lunch would be ready in half an hour.

“Okay, so,” began Aya, once they were alone in the room, “while the food is cooking, I’ll ring my parents to let them know about Wednesday, however,” she paused for dramatic effect, “… before I do that, should I also tell Sirius to invite Remus to our meeting as well? I mean if we intend to bring him into our fold, what better time to do it than Wednesday when we’ll all be gathered in one place?”

Both Barty and Voldemort looked sceptical and unsure about it.

“I think I would like to have a private conversation with Sirius about this before revealing anything to Lupin,” said Voldemort. “I know I said having more spies is always welcome, but I have my doubts about Lupin. After all, he sided with Dumbledore and your biological parents in the war and fought against me. Just because Sirius is now technically my supporter because of his connection to you and your connection to me, doesn’t mean that Lupin would follow his example automatically.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Aya. “So … when exactly would you want to talk with my parents? Tomorrow we’re already attending an event, on Wednesday we’re already meeting with the doctor and setting the plan into motion, so, the only option left is Tuesday.”

“Then I’ll meet with your parents on Tuesday morning.”

“Alright. Now, as for the time. What do I tell them?”

“I’ll probably visit around ten o’clock on Tuesday,” replied Voldemort, “as for Wednesday, around eleven-thirty, because we are travelling by carriage and it takes a while to get there.”

“Okay,” she said and made a mental note about the times. “Speaking of carriages,” she said in the middle of dialling. “Do we already have one reserved for tomorrow?” she asked her husband, who looked at Barty, because he was usually tasked with arranging transport.

“Uh … I didn’t reserve it yet, because no one told me the specific date and time,” he said apologetically.

“Well the event starts at two,” she thought aloud. “I don’t know if there will be drinks and food so, maybe eating lunch beforehand would be good. So, I don’t know, maybe arrange a carriage for eight-thirty for tomorrow and for seven o’clock on Wednesday.”

“Understood. I’ll go take care of that right now.” He stood up and left the room. Luckily, the thestral carriage service was in business all day, every day.

In the meantime, Aya called her parents. After a couple of rings, she heard Sirius’ voice.

“So …” he began, “you finally decide to call, huh, pup?”

She giggled. “Hey, Papa Siri. Yeah, I know I haven’t called since you left, but I was busy, okay.”

“Having sex, no doubt,” he deadpanned.

“I do plenty of that too,” she said casually, “but I’ll have you know that’s not the only thing that keeps me busy.”

“Oh, and what else keeps you busy?”

“Preparing for my friends’ shop opening and making plans with my husband.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw the advertisement in the Prophet. Well, have fun, and who knows,” his voice sounded full of mischief; “maybe Severus and I will come too.”

“Well, let me know if you decide to go. Now, about what I wanted to talk to you. You know how we must make Dumbledore believe I’m ill so I won’t have to go to Hogwarts?”

“Aha.”

“Well, we just spoke with the healer and we have a plan and we would like to share it with you, because, after all, you two will be the ones to inform Dumbledore about my ailment.”

“Okay … when do you need us to come?”

“You don’t need to visit, because we’ll visit you on Wednesday around eleven thirty.”

“Okay. Severus and I will be expecting you.”

She glanced at Voldemort. “Also, about the thing you wanted me to ask my husband.” She reached out to caress Voldemort’s cheek. He covered her hand with his, leaned into her touch and pressed a kiss to her palm. She vaguely heard her father’s affirmative murmur as a wide, bright smile directed at her husband illuminated her face. “Well, he’s not completely averse to it. He sees merit in having more people at the school; however, he still needs some convincing.”

“No problem. I’ll argue my case to him if he needs it.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. “Because he wants to have a private talk with you on Tuesday.”

“Okay and when exactly is he coming?”

“Around ten o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll let Severus know we’re having guests on Tuesday and Wednesday. Other than that, how are you, pup? Everything good?”

“Well, other than suffering a leg cramp this morning, everything is fine. My friends are still my friends, the Gringotts team warded the place, I met my husband’s followers in person and officially, and yesterday, I found everything for tomorrow’s special event. We still need to set up our off-grid electricity, but that’s something we will start arranging in the next few days.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And you? How are you and Papa Sev?”

“We’re fine, pup. We’re enjoying the house now that we have it to ourselves, but sometimes it feels empty, because you’re not here.”

“Aw,” she sighed. “Well, I’ll be visiting on Wednesday so that should chase away some of the emptiness or … if you’re both up for it, why don’t you try for a child?”

Sirius sputtered into the phone. “At this age, pup?” he said scandalised.

“I don’t see why not.” She shrugged. “Neither you nor Severus are old by any means.”

“Yes, but you forget that we are both men, pup. We can’t just conceive naturally through sex.”

“I’m sure there’s a ritual or a potion that can allow men to get pregnant and if not, then maybe Severus can invent one.”

“L-Let’s leave that subject alone for now, pup. I don’t want you to give me weird ideas.”

She giggled. “Okay, fine. I won’t say anything then.” She joked. “Anyway, I have to go now, because lunch is almost ready and I’m hungry.”

Sirius laughed. “Alright, take care, pup.”

She was about to hang up the phone, when she remembered something. “Oh, and before I forget, my phone battery is still about 50% full, but if for some reason, you can’t get through to me before Wednesday on my phone, that’s because it will probably be in a coma, until I electrocute it by re-charging it.”

Another round of laughter came from Sirius’ side. “Understood, pup.”

With that, they ended their call. Aya let out a satisfied sigh and looked at Voldemort. “Okay, now that that’s done, let’s go eat lunch.”

…

“Voldemort?” she called tentatively, seated on the sofa, after closing the internet tab on her phone to save battery and staring at the ceiling with hands resting on her stomach. He was sitting next to her, reading the book she recommended him. “You know how a few days ago I mentioned doing a party for Barty before he leaves for Hogwarts?”

“I remember, yes.” He turned to her with a sceptical look. “Don’t tell me you actually want to do it.”

“Well … yes,” she said matter-of-factly, “I do. It would be a perfect opportunity to test my memory.”

He furrowed his brow. “In what way?”

“To see how successful I am remembering your inner circle members’ names in a week,” she declared resolutely. “I already know a handful of names, for example, Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange family: Raphael, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and of course,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance, “Bellatrix. It’s hard not to remember that _bitch_ ,” she spat derisively. “But there are plenty of others that I just couldn’t memorise the faces and the names that go with them on Friday. They were just too many. I know that there’s Anthony somewhere and Thor, but the rest is all jumbled up in my brain.”

He chuckled. “And you want to organise a party just for that?” he asked incredulously.

“Mostly, yes, but it would also be a good way for them and me to get to know each other a bit. To see what are opinions are on certain topics and all that jazz.”

“I don’t know, Aya, my followers aren’t really open-minded thinkers per se,” he said carefully. “They are very staunch and deep-rooted in their ways and thinking, and while I would never allow them to openly disrespect or harm you, I don’t think you and them can see eye to eye on politics, education and even views on muggles.”

She snorted. “As if I’m worried about that, darling. I know it won’t be smooth sailing with them, but don’t worry, I can handle a bunch of uptight, ignorant hypocrites singlehandedly, thank you very much.”

“How exactly do you intend to achieve that?” he asked half-confused and half-curious.

“By telling them the truth in their faces no matter how ugly it is and without sugarcoating it, whether they want to hear it or not. For the truth is the first step towards enlightenment,” she answered enigmatically and with a vicious grin.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed in thought, intrigued to learn about what exactly Aya was talking. “Very well,” he said, nodding. “We can organise that ‘party’ for Barty. When exactly did you have it in mind?”

“A week from now, so, Sunday. Maybe invite a werewolf too, so he or she can tell Barty more about how to deal with a werewolf on a full moon. Though if you ask me, it’s not that difficult if you’re not scared shitless in their presence. They can smell fear after all.”

“Alright, I’ll tell Fenrir Greyback to join us then.”

“Excellent,” she smiled. “One more thing.”

“Tell me,” he prompted her with a smirk.

“I need you to write down the names of the Death Eaters that I don’t remember,” she told him, passing her phone with the notepad open, titled ‘DE names’. “And I also need you to procure me their pictures.”

He took the phone and started typing out names … slowly, because he wasn’t really skilled with technology. “You will be able to find most of the pictures in old issues of the Daily Prophet, when they took their prisoner photos towards the end of 2001.”

She let out an incredulous sigh and her eyes widened comically. “Do I really have to search newspaper archives to get some pictures? Why can’t I just take photos with my handy dandy phone or why don’t you write them telling them to send a picture of themselves or a copy of their identification cards. Definitely a less time-consuming method to gather what I need.”

“Well, I could say the same about this phone. Why couldn’t you give me normal paper and pencil? It will take me years to write down all the names on this cursed device,” he complained after spending an entire minute typing three names, mostly because his nails were getting in the way.

She took the phone back and said, “Then dictate the names and surnames to me and I’ll write. How about that?”

“Much better.”

Once she had all of them written down, she thanked Voldemort for his help and started coming up with unique, funny, bizarre and absurd phrases that would help her memorise the names in some capacity.

She worked in silence, typing, erasing and re-typing things next to the names on the phone. After half an hour, more or less, she saved the note, threw her head back against the sofa and sighed in relief.

“I did it,” she announced. “Now I just need the pictures to mash with the images and situations I’ve created and I’m good. I think I even invented a tongue twister or two.”

Curious to see what she came up with, Voldemort looked at her list:

_Rosier likes rosy roses._

_Nott does not know how to tie knots._

_Avery has various vintage visages._

_Mulciber has multiple cyber sites._

_Crabbe cracks crabs._

_Goyle paints gyoza like Goya._

_Gibbon is giddy about getting gloves as a gift._

_Jugson is juggling jugs full of juice._

_Travers has troubles with trousers._

_Selwyn sells windows._

_The Snydes sneezed after saying a snide remark._

_Thorfinn likes to talk about thorns in the toilet every Thursday._

_Walden wants walnut waffles._

_The Carrows carry arrows._

_Yaxley yanked Yolanda’s yoyo._

_Dolohov has a doll named Dolly._

_Rookwood is a rook that likes wood._

He looked up at her. “And how exactly will this and pictures help you memorise their names?” he wondered.

“Because I’m shit at pure memorisation, I need to make boring and overwhelming information bearable and memorable for my brain to process and store it,” she explained. “Because if I don’t find something interesting, absurd, funny and memorable, I won’t remember that shit even after seeing, listening or reading it a hundred times. Therefore, by putting these people in bizarre, funny and absurd situations, I’ve made them memorable to my brain. Unfortunately, right now, all of them are nothing but black human silhouettes wearing nametags, but once I get the pictures, I will be able to associate the actual faces with the mental images I’ve created.”

He seemed impressed. He turned his eyes back to the list and gave it another look. “Oh, they are definitely memorable,” he agreed, chuckling at most of them. Just imagining his listed followers doing the things Aya had them do was hilarious.

“Thank you. I used a combination of alliteration with trying to find words, whose beginning syllables form part of the name. For example, ‘Rookwood is a rook that likes wood.’ The _‘rook’_ in the sentence forms the first part of the man’s name and _‘wood’_ forms the second part of the name,” she said enthusiastically. “Or this one; ‘Selwyn sells windows.’ The _‘sel’_ in sells makes up the first syllable of the name and the _‘win’_ in windows forms the second part of the name.”

Aya was smiling from ear to ear, satisfied with herself. Voldemort couldn’t help but chuckle, amused, as he directed an expression full of love at her.

“Is that how you study for exams too?” he asked, his hand supporting his head.

“Yes, depending on the subject, I use different strategies. For example, in runes, I use keyword method a lot, in which you take the pronunciation of the word you want to learn, you find a similar sounding word or phrase in the native language to act as the keyword and then you create a mental image that connects the keyword with the meaning of the foreign word. One such example would be the one I came up with for the rune ‘ _Kenaz_ ’ that means _torch_ in a literal sense and _wisdom_ or _knowledge_ in a slightly deeper sense _._ The word itself sounds very close to _‘cane’_ and _‘Oz’_. So, I mash that with the following image ‘ _The torch cane enlightened the Wizard of Oz with wisdom_.’”

Voldemort just stared at her, speechless.

“For Astronomy, the planet order specifically, I use number-rhyming pegs. First, you need to number the items you want to memorise; in my case, I have eight planets so the one closest to the sun will be number one and the farthest from it will be number eight. You assign a rhyming word to each number, so, one is bun, two is shoe, three is tree, four is door, five is hive, six is sticks, seven is heaven and eight is gate. Then, you create memorable images with the actual planets, such as Mercury bun, which would be a bun made of mercury; Venus shoes would be shoes worn by the goddess Venus; Earth tree would be a tree made from earth; Mars door would be a door made out of Mars bars; and so on.”

Voldemort listened to her, completely enthralled with the way her mind worked.

“When I was trying to learn numbers as a child, I used number-shape pegs. So for me, zero was an egg or a ball, one was a pencil or a candle, two was a swan, three was a crooked ear or a butterfly, four was a sail, five was a hook, six was a comet, seven was a hatchet, eight was a snowman or an hourglass, nine was a balloon on a string. With that in mind, do you want to know how I memorised the year the International Statute of Secrecy was established?”

She turned with her body to him in the sofa and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Most definitely,” he chuckled, mimicking her posture.

“I came up with a very short and sweet story.”

“Let’s hear it,” he teased, grinning.

“The pencil hid the comet with a balloon from the swan, so the swan wouldn’t hurt the comet anymore,” she said happily. “Pencil is one, comet is six, balloon is nine and swan is two, 1692. Moreover, the story tells me exactly what happened that year, since the pencil is the International Confederation of Wizards, the comet is wizardkind, the balloon is the statute and the swan is non-magical folk. Ta-da! Isn’t it amazing?” she exclaimed excitedly, her eyes glittering.

He erupted into laughter and she soon followed. He could never tire of listening to her, to her voice, to her laughter, to her ideas and stories, while watching her animated hand gestures, her exaggerated facial expressions, her expressive eyes, her radiant smile as she narrated a story, expressed an idea, or argued an argument. Everything about her kept him intrigued, fascinated, completely enraptured. She made him beyond happy and he was undoubtedly and absolutely in love with her.

Even when his laughter died down, a wide smile continued to adorn his face. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Why, thank you.” She smoothed her hair, imitating a posh woman. “And you?” she prompted him animatedly. “How did you use to study when you were a student?”

“I definitely didn’t do anything like you,” he chuckled. “I usually understood everything after reading or listening to teachers’ explanations, but I think that paraphrasing textbook definitions and explanations with simpler terms proved to be an easy way for me to understand what I was reading, especially in my early years.”

As he narrated, Aya was listening to his every word with wonder.

“However, in my later years, I do recall making graphs and mind maps, but also little cards that I would then bind into little booklets to make it more organised. I remember I had one for almost each subject. I definitely had a booklet for Defence, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, Ancient Runes, and Care for Magical Creatures. The ones that had spells had the wand movement and incantation of each spell on the front and the use and effects on the back. The one with potions had the sketch of the potion and its name on the front and its use and effects on the back. For Herbology, I had the names and illustrations of the plants in the front and the characteristics and use for them on the back. The same for magical creatures, the pictures of the animals and their names on the front, and their characteristics, behavioural patterns, and diets on the back. And the one for runes had a similar structure too.”

“Oh my God,” she squealed ecstatic, cupping her cheeks. “That’s so cute and amazing. Please, tell me you still have those flashcard booklets somewhere, darling, I really want to see them.”

He laughed at her eagerness. “Unfortunately, I think I don’t have them anymore,” he said apologetically. “They either got lost, or destroyed. I haven’t seen them since I left Britain for a decade.”

“Aw,” she lamented. “I really wanted to see your craftsmanship and drawing skills.” She pouted in disappointment.

He chuckled, and gently pinched her cheek with the back of his index and middle finger. “The only things I drew were the runes, wand movements for spells and rudimentary sketches for potions. I’m not a skilled enough visual artist to draw life-like sketches of plants and animals.”

She huffed and waved dismissively. “Eh, details.”

She looked at the clock and gasped. “I can’t believe it’s already that late,” she exclaimed, horrified. “I still need to wash my hair and paint my nails for tomorrow.”

She grabbed Cthulhu’s container and drank the water in big gulps.

“Do you want me to massage your leg, before and after dinner?”

Moved by his offer, she placed a hand on her chest. “If it’s not a bother, darling, that would be amazing. Now, I really have to go to the toilet, before I end up peeing myself,” she said, before she raced off to their room.

…

After a quick breakfast and toilet routine, Voldemort dressed into the outfit that Aya had bought for him in the bedroom, while Winky helped Aya with the dress and the hair in the bathroom.

Ten minutes before the carriage arrived, the bathroom door opened to reveal his gorgeous wife, who was posing by leaning with one arm raised against the doorframe.

“And?” she prompted. “How do I look?” she grinned playfully.

He took in her appearance. She was wearing an elegant, dark green dress with a fitted bodice and flared knee-length skirt, a curly half-updo and snake print beige sandals.

“Ravishing,” he returned with a roguish grin of his own.

She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. “You look dashing as well,” she complimented him, her eyes filled with love and desire. He held her close. “It makes me want to kiss you and make love to you, but if I do, I will ruin my attire as well as yours and we don’t want that, at least not before the opening.”

He laughed under his breath. “Three hours is a lot of time, you know,” he said in a seductive voice, burying his face in her neck to breathe in her scent and kiss her skin. “And if we ruin our clothes, we can always use magic to return them to their original state.” His tongue darted out and traced a line to her ear.

She muffled a mewl.

“Unless, of course, you have a suggestion on how we could spend the time inside the carriage.”

“Well,” she breathed and caressed his shoulder blades, “we could continue playing Fran Bow. We still have four chapters left. My phone battery is low, but I think we can complete chapter two without any problems. Do you even remember what the game is about?”

“Not much,” he confessed, “but I remember a little girl in a mental asylum that sees horrible things when she eats pills and a murder mystery. I believe we stopped just when she escaped the mental institution.”

“I’m impressed,” she said. “That’s exactly where we left off.”

A knock interrupted them.

“Enter,” ordered Voldemort.

In came Barty. “I just wanted to let you know that the carriage has arrived.”

With a sigh, they let go of each other, made sure they had everything with them, especially Aya, and made their way downstairs to the front entrance.

Just before Voldemort gave the signal to move, Aya looked through the window and beckoned Barty closer. When he was standing just outside the carriage, she addressed him. “Behave yourself while we’re away, okay?”

He sent a blank stare her way. “Aya,” he said, “I’m an adult not a child.”

“Oh, I know that,” she deadpanned, “but just because you’re an adult that doesn’t mean you can’t misbehave.”

“And don’t forget about your assignment,” warned Voldemort, sending him a meaningful look.

“I won’t.”

“We’ll be back by dinner,” she said and waved.

With that, the carriage started moving and Barty couldn’t help but feel like a teenager who was home alone expected to do his homework and tidy his room, while his parents were out having a good time and acting more like teenagers than him.

Well, it’s not like he intended to stay in the house the entire day anyway since he had to go to a lot of different places to gather the texts on immortality for his … adoptive father. He would just need to make sure he was home by the time they returned, so Aya wouldn’t be suspicious about it.

…

After re-familiarising himself with the gameplay mechanics of the game, Aya insisted he played until the end of the chapter. Aya still lent her voice to the characters, read the dialogue aloud, and made comments on certain things that were said or that happened in the game.

It helped that the chapter seemed to have some magical elements in it when they were gathering ingredients for a potion and a ritual to exorcise the conjoint sisters so they could get their hands on the key that unlocked the padlock on the cage where Fran’s cat, Mr. Midnight, was held captive.

Despite the magical component of the chapter, the progression was still based on using logic and solving puzzles and utilising correct items in the inventory with the correct objects around the house. The most daunting task was the cog puzzle at the top of the mirror in the room upstairs.

Just as they crossed the water with the bloated toad and crossed the bridge, Fran fell and suddenly appeared in a sort of fairyland … as a tree. A talking tree. They played as the cat for a short while, until some weird talking tree creatures took Fran and Mr. Midnight to some kind of throne room, where the chapter ended.

They still had an hour to London, but with only 15% of the battery left, they wouldn’t get enough time to do much of the third chapter, so, instead, Aya had an alternative in mind.

“I know what we can do next!” she exclaimed, pulling up the YouTube app on her phone. “There’s an amazing video series I want to show you. Amazingly creepy and disturbing. It has six short episodes that make you go ‘What the hell did I just watch’ when you see it for the first time, but the more you watch it, the better it gets.”

“And what’s the name of this amazingly creepy and disturbing series?”

“Don’t Hug Me. I’m Scared.”

“An interesting choice of title.”

The first video began playing and less than a minute into it, Voldemort asked, “How is this creepy and disturbing?”

“Don’t let its happy-go-lucky beginning fool you,” she told him. “Just wait until it passes the mid-point and you will see what I mean by it.”

“How many times have you seen it already?”

“At least a dozen times,” she answered, looking at the phone screen with a smile.

Even after over halfway point, there still wasn’t anything creepy or disturbing about it, until the music turned eerie and an actual heart appeared, being covered in gold glitter, a cake filled with actual entrails, the duck character spelling ‘DEATH’, and entrails being sucked into the mice hole.

He was speechless.

She looked at him when the first video ended. “And?” she prompted him excitedly. “What are your first impressions?”

It took him a while to answer. “It was definitely as you described it.”

“And that’s just the beginning, darling. There are still five episodes left.”

The second one was about time and if Voldemort thought seeing raw heart and entrails was odd, watching the yellow character turn old, the duck character start decaying quite literally and the red guy pull out parts of his brain together with his hair as the clock ticks made him uncomfortable.

The third video dealt with love and cult-like mentality with creepy voice acting and character design.

Episode four was about technology, its advantages and dangers, and apparently it was also Aya’s favourite episode because she was singing alongside it. Overall, the episode wasn’t as disturbing to him as the previous three, mostly because he didn’t understand technology at all.

Things got increasingly disturbing again in episode five, with talking food trying to explain what a healthy diet looks like and how the food you ingest affects your body, and the duck character being strapped on a hospital bed and having his insides eaten by a giant can. The episode ended with some sort of cannibalism, where the yellow character seemingly ate the duck character.

The last video was about dreams, or rather nightmares, and just like how the yellow character was yelling for everything to stop, Voldemort found himself sharing that sentiment. 

By the time everything ended, he definitely found himself thinking, what in the world did he just witness.

“So …” began Aya, “what are your final thoughts?”

“If your plan was to scar me in some way, dearest, I must say you have succeeded in doing so,” he said.  “And just before lunch too. I don’t think I will be able to see the food the same way again for a while.”

She laughed heartily and hugged him around the shoulders. “Says the man who enjoys killing and torturing and who said that mummification process and other gruesome topics were good topics to discuss over afternoon tea or lunch,” she teased him. “Although,” she cleared her throat a bit, “to be fair, the first time I saw this video series with the horcruxes, we were all traumatised too and I would have had my fair share of nightmares, if it weren’t for them keeping me company in my happy place, so I know the feeling,” she assured him.

“How do you even find all these creepy and disturbing things?”

“Mostly by coincidence, like this one, or _Courage, the Cowardly Dog_ ,” she said, “unless I’m actively searching for them, such as _Salad Fingers_.” She sighed. “I want to show you that one too, but we’ll wait until Hallowe’en to binge-watch it, because if this one left you feeling uneasy, just wait until you see Salad Fingers, because that shit is also the stuff of nightmares.”

“And all of this is made by muggles, I presume.”

“Aha. You might despise them, darling, but you can’t deny that when it comes to scary, creepy and disturbing, they have a knack for it.”

He begrudgingly agreed.

…

They ate at the same establishment as last week, with Aya ordering a cottage pie, a mixed salad and a glass of water, and with Voldemort ordering beef wellington with roasted potatoes and vegetables and a glass of water. They agreed they would go to Florean’s Ice Cream Parlour for their dessert.

Halfway their lunch, Aya’s phone vibrated to indicate an incoming message.

“Who is it?”

“It’s my father Sirius,” she said, as she read the message. “He says they aren’t coming. Apparently, they are too lazy to come.”

She showed him the screen so he could read the exact contents of the message. Then, she began typing a reply, before her battery died.

…

With half an hour until the shop opening, they made their trip to the ice cream shop. As they ate their respective mint ice creams, they decided to take a look at the twins’ shop windows to see some of the products they were offering and the first thing that caught Aya’s eye was a word play on her husband’s name given to him by the general public.

“Oh my God, darling, look.” She buried her face in his arm to smother her laughter and pointed at the sign.

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO?

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO —

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

“Isn’t it ingenious?”

“So, I’m less threatening and terrifying than constipation, is that it?” he commented sarcastically under his breath, which made her laugh again.

“You’re plenty terrifying and threatening, darling,” she assured him lovingly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and hugging him. “But you can’t deny that constipation is a very unpleasant and inconvenient thing to have.”

He murmured begrudgingly.

They window shopped for a few minutes, until a crowd started to gather around the shop and someone called Aya’s name.

She turned towards the voice and saw Hermione and Viktor standing next to her. A bright smile appeared on Aya’s face and she greeted her friend with a hug. She also greeted Viktor with a handshake. “Nice to see you again, Viktor.”

“Likewise,” he returned.

Hermione looked at the disguised Voldemort. “And who is your companion?” she whispered apprehensively.

“This,” said Aya brightly, returning to Voldemort’s side, “is my future husband.” She hugged him by the waist. “We got engaged last week.”

Voldemort offered them a handshake and a tight, polite smile. “Thomas Randall,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands and Viktor even congratulated them on the engagement, even though it seemed a bit rushed to him.

“Well, what can I say, we met and we just clicked,” Aya looked lovingly at Voldemort.

“If he makes you happy and your parents are okay with it, then I suppose it’s alright,” said Viktor.

“Oh, he makes me extremely happy.” She leaned forward and placed a brief kiss on Voldemort’s lips. “And, of course, my parents are also okay with our marriage,” she added.

There was a gentle expression on Viktor and Hermione’s faces.

Shortly after, Susan and Hannah joined them, together with Neville, Ginny, Luna, Bill and Fleur. She greeted her friends enthusiastically and officially introduced them to her fiancé ‘Thomas Randall’.

Those who knew who exactly Thomas Randall was were slightly cautious around him, but did their best to appear natural, except Luna. She was more than happy to shake hands with the Dark Lord in disguise and tell him that she looked forward to see them succeed.

Voldemort didn’t know how to respond to it, so he simply said a reluctant thank you. Neither Aya nor Voldemort were exactly sure to what she was referring, though, they had an inkling she was referring to them taking over magical Britain, but she could also be referring to the success of their marriage. They were certain they would do well in both.

After exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes, the shop door opened and through them walked the twins and addressed the crowd that had gathered in front of their joke shop in a brief speech.

As Aya surveyed the crowd, there were mostly kids with their parents, teenagers with their friend groups, but also Ron with his girlfriend and a few of his dorm mates and the twins’ parents.

When the speech ended and the twins officially opened the doors of their shop, the youngest of the crowd rushed through the door first, followed by their parents, who were urging their children to behave, and teenagers. Aya, Voldemort and her friends were among the last ones to cross the threshold and walked into complete mayhem.

There was a lot of noise and chattering, some fireworks, but mostly children and teenagers crowding around the shelves and different display arrangements trying to get their hands on as many joke products and sweets as they could.

Her friends went ahead to explore the shop and the products, while Aya and Voldemort retired to a quieter and less crowded corner of the shop and mostly observed the shop’s interior and the happening around them.

Some were already trying the product samples to see how they worked, but mostly they could hear mothers yelling over the noise after their kids to stay away from anything too dangerous, to pick only two or three items not ten, to buy something within a certain monetary range or something that wasn’t going to make them sick. Children in turn cried and pleaded with them to let them buy more than allowed or something slightly more pricey or dangerous, because it was cool and everyone else was trying and buying it and they didn’t want to be uncool by not having or trying something, and when they were told no, a few of them had temper tantrums. In the middle of the shop. One mother went as far as to drag her screaming, crying and kicking child out of the shop because they were misbehaving, not even ten minutes after the shop had opened. All the while, the twins were promoting their products, and moving around the shop, explaining what all the different products did, while their assistant was busy at the till.

“These aren’t kids,” Voldemort grumbled under his breath. “These are untrained animals that don’t know how to follow basic rules of conduct and manners.”

She turned to him and chuckled. “Well, not everyone is as well-behaved and quiet as we were when we were their age,” she told him.

“Apparently,” he deadpanned with crossed arms. “But one would think that parents would be able to rein them in and show them how to behave like civilised people, especially in public.”

She sighed. “I know, but unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Who knows what kind of parenting style their using, but clearly it’s not producing the desired results.”

“Well, I can already tell you that I won’t let any child of mine throw a temper tantrum of that magnitude. Neither in public nor at home,” he assured her. “I don’t mind negotiating with them for toys or sweets, rewarding them for good behaviour, giving them reasonable amounts of freedom and encouraging them to be independent, to make their own decisions and to pursue their hobbies, but when I set clear rules and limitations and reasons for them, I expect them to treat my word as absolute.”

“And when they try to test and push the boundaries?” she prompted, fighting off a smirk. “What will you do when our children try to challenge your authority?”

“Tell them what the consequences will be if they go against my rules. If I tell them to clean their room and they don’t do it, then I can take something they like away from them, such as playing with toys or friends.”

She was grinning. “Oh, so you’re aiming to be an authoritative parent, ha?” She circled his middle affectionately. “Affectionate and understanding, but also demanding.”

“I suppose,” he shrugged, returning the hug.

“Me too. From what I’ve read about parenting styles yesterday, it seems like authoritative parenting is by far the best approach. The kids benefit the most from it, since they tend to be happy, successful, responsible, and have a good relationship with their parents and I would suppose siblings as well, which is exactly what we want, right darling?” She looked expectantly at him, ignoring all the commotion around them.

He looked down at her with a smirk and murmured affirmatively. They pressed their lips together in a brief and chaste kiss.

“Hello there, lovebirds.” The voice of Fred and George Weasley startled them a bit.

“Hello, Fred,” greeted Aya still holding onto Voldemort. “Hello, George.”

“I see you’re enjoying yourselves,” teased Fred from Voldemort’s side.

“Though I believe you are missing on all the fun inside the shop,” said George from Aya’s side.

“Maybe if it weren’t so crowded and chaotic, we would be exploring more,” grumbled Voldemort.

Fred and George looked at all the customers that were flooding their shop.

“I can see why you would want to wait for it to let up a bit,” said George.

“But all the chaos is part of the fun,” added Fred.

“Speaking of chaos,” said George,” I believe we have a few items that you would fancy very much.” He went to grab something. Aya just hoped it wasn’t the constipation product parodying her husband’s public nickname.

“I don’t see how I would fancy a joke product,” commented Voldemort under his breath.

“While most of our items are meant to be used as pranks,” said Fred, “we have several different lines. Explosive Enterprises, featuring a variety of fireworks; Wonder Witch, featuring beauty products and magical jewellery targeted at females, no love potions; Muggle Magic, featuring muggle magic tricks for muggle enthusiasts like our father; Sweets that can make you sick, great for skipping class; and last but not least, Defence Objects.”

“Defence Objects?” Voldemort was mildly interested.

“Yes, we have Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Decoy Detonators and Jinx-Off, which is a spell protection kit that includes hat, cloak and gloves. It protects you from numerous light to moderate jinxes and curses, but they are useless against powerful spells and, of course, the Unforgivable Spell Trio.”

George returned with several items: Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Jinx-Off, Extendable Ears, and Decoy Detonator.

“And do you have to wear all three items in the spell-protection kit?” asked Voldemort, quite interested in the product.

“For maximum protection, yes,” said George, “but worn separately, the hat would protect your head and neck, the cloak your body and the gloves your hands.”

It was far from perfect, but if the twins added a few extra pieces to the outfit or imbued more powerful versions of the shielding charm, he wouldn’t mind buying the lot for Aya, the kids and himself … but also his Death Eaters. After all, he needed a well-protected army … just in case.

“If you are willing to make a few adjustments to the kit and remove the item from the shop, so that the Ministry doesn’t get their hands on them, I will be more than willing to buy every single kit you produce and give you all the money you need to develop a more powerful and effective version.”

Fred and George gaped, speechless, for a few seconds, then, they shared a look, with eyes glittering excitedly.

“You have yourself a deal,” said George eagerly, shaking Voldemort’s hand.

“Speaking of business,” said Fred playfully, “George and I have a few product ideas that feature a certain mark, but since the design belongs to a certain Lord, we thought it would be wise to discuss our ideas first with the man who owns the rights to the mark himself.”

Voldemort directed a questioning look at the twins.

“Say, would you be willing to come see us tomorrow morning before we open the shop so we can discuss everything in peace and in person?” proposed George.

“Depends on the hour,” replied Voldemort, “because I already have another appointment around ten o’clock tomorrow.”

“We open at nine, so, perhaps eight o’clock?” said Fred.

He exchanged a look with Aya, who only nodded encouragingly, then looked at the twins and agreed to a business meeting.

Fred and George looked overjoyed.

…

Around the forty-five minute mark, Bill and Fleur joined them in their corner.

“And how is work at Gringotts, Fleur?” asked Aya.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said excitedly. “I’m only working part time for now as an intern, but they said that if I proved to be efficient by the end of the summer, they will employ me full time.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Fleur turned to Bill. “Bill has been a great help.” She touched his arm gently and directed a look full of adoration at him. “I wouldn’t have managed to integrate as well as I have if it weren’t for him.”

Bill blushed at the praise and contact, and tried to downplay his role. “It’s nothing much. I’m sure others would have done the same as well.”

“Maybe,” she allowed, “but to me your assistance and patience mean a lot.”

For a moment, they were in their own little world and Aya had to smother her urge to giggle at the obvious case of two people fancying each other, but were not dating quite yet.

Aya’s friends interrupted the atmosphere when they joined them with their own purchases and comments about the products. She particularly fancied the Pygmy Puff Ginny bought for herself, because it was so soft, fluffy, and cute. Maybe in the near future, she would buy one for herself and name it Fuzzy.

After little over an hour, Voldemort and Aya felt groggy and exhausted and neither would have terribly minded an afternoon nap. Excusing themselves, they said goodbye to Aya’s friends and the twins, then walked to their carriage.

“Finally, some fresh air,” commented Voldemort, once they were inside it. “I swear my head was starting to hurt from how stuffy the interior of the shop was.”

She snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, and his arm draped over her shoulders, while he rested his cheek on her head.

“With so many people in an enclosed space, it’s normal for the air to get all stale. Otherwise, it wasn’t such a bad experience, was it?”

“I suppose not,” allowed Voldemort. “I’m glad I came and I thought some of the products were interesting and useful.”

“You seemed pretty interested in the Jinx-Off kit. Any particular reason?”

“I was thinking we could use it for ourselves, since you’re already looking into making protective clothing yourself,” he pointed out.

“True.”

“But I also want to equip the Death Eaters with it. I may not look for war, but the Order might not stand down without a fight, so, I want my followers to be well-prepared for a possible armed altercation with the Order.”

 She nodded. “That’s why you want the product off the shelves too, right? So that the Ministry or the Order can’t get their hands on them.”

“Exactly.”

Companionable silence settled between them. The carriage movement coupled with Voldemort messaging Aya’s head and Aya rubbing his chest made them drowsy.

“So …” said Aya sleepily, after a while, “Thomas Randall, ha?” she teased him.

He groaned. “It was the first name that came to mind.”

She giggled. “I know, but seriously, once I marry you, what will my and our children’s surname be?” she wondered. “Because no matter how much you hate your birth name, legally speaking, you’re still Tom Marvolo Riddle or at least that’s what the documents at Gringotts said when we went there last week.”

A derisive huff escaped him. “Then I’m changing it to either Voldemort Peverell or Voldemort Slytherin on Wednesday morning when we go blood adopt Barty.”

“What about Gaunt?”

“I would prefer not to associate with the inbred side of my maternal family. Because there’s absolutely nothing to be proud of it.”

“But you’re still the Lord of the family, the only one in fact,” she pointed out. “We can begin a new line of Gaunts that will be nothing like the ones who came before you. We can make all three surnames into something to be proud of; something that will make people venerate us; something that will make other families want to imitate us.”

When he thought about it, it definitely sounded promising. “While I agree that we should strive to achieve that, I do not want our children to have a long, hyphened surname. I don’t know how you can handle yours, but let’s pick one of the three as our family name and that’s it.”

She laughed. “That’s fine with me,” she agreed and nuzzled his chest.

They arrived home just in time for dinner and slightly after Barty had returned from his scholarly excursion into multiple foreign countries to gather texts on immortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering about the accuracy of how long a migraine headache can last, I found one source that states that it can last anywhere from 4 hours to 72 hours. (source: https://www.emedicinehealth.com/migraine_headache_faqs/article_em.htm). I don't know if any of you experience them yourselves and how long your migraines may last, but I think the duration I chose in the chapter for Aya to put on the fake medical report is reasonable and not going overboard with it. 😊


	9. A Party for Barty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort meets up with the twins and his in-laws, they all talk with Remus, and Aya organises a party for Barty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: If you notice anything inconsistent within the story, please let me know. I'm updating later than usual in the day and I might have overlooked something while editing. Also beware of dialogue, there's a lot of talking in this chapter, especially in the last section. Hope you don't mind it. 😇
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! 😊

“Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley are expecting you, Mr. Randall,” the shop assistant said upon opening the door to the shop. “Please, follow me.”

She closed and locked the door behind him, then escorted him to the apartment above the shop, where the twins were waiting for him. Her role fulfilled, she excused herself and returned to the shop to restock the shelves after their success the previous day.

Fred and George welcomed Voldemort into their apartment and showed him around, mostly their laboratory, where they produced their products and developed and perfected their ideas.

“As you can see, Fred and I are constantly working on new projects,” said George proudly.

Voldemort surveyed the laboratory. “Yes, I can see that,” he commented.

“And with your financial support,” said Fred, “we’ll be able to upgrade our equipment and make sure to buy ingredients of the highest quality as well as develop items specifically for you, following your requirements and desires.”

“Everything for our patrons, you and Aya,” added George.

“Well, have you removed the protection kit from the shelves and the owl order catalogue?”

“We have,” they said in unison.

“And we’ve gathered all the units in the attic,” said George.

“Good,” nodded Voldemort, satisfied.

“Just tell us when and what changes you would like and we’ll do our damnedest to fulfil your request,” added Fred.

“If you already know exactly what you want done, we could move to the office to discuss it in detail,” suggested George.

“Let’s,” agreed Voldemort and all three headed to the office.

Once there, they each took a seat and the twins prepared notebooks to jot down Voldemort’s requests.

“First of all, I want you to expand the number of items in the protection kit,” began Voldemort. “Or rather, I want you to create a complete uniform that will be able to protect every inch of someone’s body regardless of the direction and angle a spell is cast at them.”

The twins were frantically taking notes.

“Second of all, I want you to imbue the uniform with stronger protective spells, which will be able to stop and repel almost all offensive and harmful spells, perhaps even the ‘Unforgivables’.”

Fred and George gaped at him.

“While we can strengthen the uniform to a certain degree,” said George.

“I don’t think we can make it impenetrable to _all_ spells,” said Fred.

“Especially not the Unforgivable Trio,” concluded George.

“Even if we upgrade our equipment,” added Fred.

Voldemort gave them a shrewd look. “Then we’ll just have to compensate for it. Any type of physical barrier that could act as a shield would do. Aya tells me there are materials that can withstand explosions without shattering or breaking after a couple of blasts, we should use them to create our uniforms and shields. Don’t worry about the money or the materials, Aya and I will provide them, you only have to transform and imbue them with extra protection against magic.”

Fred and George exchanged looks. “We’ll do our best,” said George.

“However, this talk about combat uniforms and shields makes it look and sound like you’re preparing to go to war,” pointed out Fred warily.

“And Aya said you don’t intend to start a war again.”

“That’s true,” said Voldemort, “I don’t plan to start a war. If I could have it my way, there would be no need to engage in combat or other forms of violence, but I am not conceited enough to believe that my political endeavour will not face armed and hostile resistance. I am not looking for war, but I will be prepared for it. Therefore, I must ensure the protection of my armed forces against all sorts of spells.”

“That makes sense,” said the twins.

“Either way,” said Fred, “George and I will come up with a satisfactory uniform design.”

“However,” interjected George, “to really test the spell resistance we will need to conduct spell resistance tests, first on the fabric alone and then on an actual person wearing the uniform.”

“Perform whatever tests you need,” assured them Voldemort. “Should you require any assistance with performing spell resistance tests for dark spells, let me know and I’ll come to perform them personally.”

“And … when should we have the prototype ready?” George wanted to know.

“Both for the uniform and the shield.”

“By the end of the year. Then we test them, tweak wherever necessary and we should start mass producing them by summer of next year.”

The twins jotted down the deadlines.

“Then it’s settled,” said George light-heartedly.

“We will keep you informed about our progress,” said Fred.

“And I will gather enough resources for you to work with,” said Voldemort.

“Now, onto our amazing ideas featuring the dark mark.” They playfully changed the subject of the conversation, equipping themselves with product proposals.

Voldemort let out a sigh. “Let’s hear them.”

“The first one features fireworks that temporarily form the dark mark in the sky,” said Fred, handing the parchment with the product details and design. “The fireworks would come in different colours and we were also considering adding a special sound effect after the explosion. A maniacal laughter, perhaps. Perfect for Samhain.”

“The second idea features temporary dark mark tattoos,” said George, passing him the design sheets. “You know, for those who like the macabre design of the snake and the skull, but don’t necessarily believe in what it represents, or they want to use it for role-playing purposes.”

“But the tattoo will come in different versions,” added Fred excitedly. “The original black outline, and from there we took the liberty to create a few alternative interpretations. Most of them are inspired by the Mexican holiday ‘Day of the Dead’ by adding colourful flower design on and around the skull in different colour schemes to add some flare to it, so that it doesn’t look so one-dimensional.”

“In tune with the tattoo,” added George, “we also thought we might develop jewellery for our Wonder Witch line. You know, pendants for bracelets and necklaces but also earrings and rings. Who knows, maybe someone who is a big fan of yours might want to propose to their significant other with a ring bearing the dark mark.”

“For those with preference for exotic candy,” continued Fred, “we were thinking of creating several flavours of lollipops laced with different potions that could make you laugh, sneeze, cough, cry, burp and even vomit.”

“So,” prompted George, smiling, “what do you think of our products featuring the dark mark so far?”

“Do we have your approval as the holder of the rights to the dark mark and its originator to use it as a template for some of our shop products?”

Voldemort stared at them. Speechless. This was too much for him to process all at once. He never would have thought that one day a couple of youngsters would want to burrow the rights to his mark and commercialise it, taking away from its original meaning of immortality and power and purpose of being a means of summoning the branded individuals at will as well as a sign of fealty to him.

He cleared his throat.

“While the products sound appealing, I don’t think you should put them on the market just yet,” he said level-headedly. “As you are well aware, the public still hates me and even when I take over magical Britain, they will need a while to accept and get used to me as their leader, and since the dark mark represents me … the same goes for the symbol.”

“You have a point,” agreed Fred, “but if we already made a pun on your nickname, I don’t see why we couldn’t pull this off with some good advertising.”

“About the pun, you’re not angry or bothered by it, are you?” asked George tentatively.

“I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I can appreciate a good slogan,” he said curtly.

They smiled, relieved.

“And … do we have your approval to use the mark?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I still think it’s a bad idea to use it so trivially with the current political climate, but if you think it won’t hurt your business, then go ahead and put them on the shelves as soon as you have the products developed. Regardless, I want you to dedicate a considerable amount of your time to the uniforms and shields.”

“Of course,” they grinned. “Leave everything to us.”

Voldemort stood up. “Then, if that is all you wanted to discuss, I believe I will be taking my leave.”

The twins escorted him to the entrance and on their way, a display of perfumes caught Voldemort’s attention. He stopped in his tracks.

“Is something the matter, sir?” asked the twins.

“This perfume … I’ve heard about it. I believe Aya mentioned receiving it as a birthday gift from you two and using it to fend off unwanted male attention.”

“Ah, yes. Our soulmate perfume. I think this is one of our greatest invention to date,” said Fred dreamily.

“And we are extremely proud of it,” added George.

“Does it really work?” Voldemort asked sceptically.

“Of course it does,” they deadpanned. “Hasn’t Aya used it in your presence yet?”

“Not that I would know.”

“I think she should still have some,” commented George. “She didn’t use it all that much at Hogwarts.”

“But if you want we can gift you a bottle to see its effects for yourself,” said Fred.

Voldemort uncorked it to smell it, but couldn’t perceive any scent. He frowned. “How could you even tell if it was a successful concoction?”

“Well, we asked a number of people to try it,” said George as if it was obvious. “Couples that have been married for decades either happily or unhappily and people who either absolutely despised or loved each other.”

“Of course, we didn’t tell them what the perfume was,” continued Fred, “but the results showed that people who were ‘soulmates’ or at least really attracted and in love with each other would claim their partner smelled exquisite and divine, while those who weren’t ‘destined for one another’ either didn’t smell anything or they thought the other person smelled foul.”

“How did you even come up with a brew like that?” wondered Voldemort, feeling impressed and intrigued by the twins’ invention.

“That, sir, is a profoundly guarded business secret,” they said, winking. “But since you are our benefactor, we might feel inclined to sharing it with you … some other time.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like being left wondering about things.

“For now, take a bottle with you and test it out yourself. I’m sure Aya will be all over you when you see her,” winked George.

With that, they enthusiastically bid him farewell.

…

He was standing outside 12 Grimmauld Place, waiting for the door to open. When it did, Severus greeted him. Once inside, he subtly surveyed the interior, not really having seen it in person aside from his spies’ memories.

“Would you like something to drink?” offered Severus as he guided him up the stairs to the first floor landing.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” he answered politely.

“Any particular brew?”

“Green tea.”

As they approached the sitting room, they could hear Sirius exclaim in a somewhat singing voice, “That’s all I needed – to – do. That’s all I needed – to – do. I can’t believe – that’s – all I needed – to – do. I – feel – stu – pid.”

“Don’t mind him,” immediately said Severus to Voldemort. “Sometimes when he plays videogames, he likes to talk to himself.”

“Mario, I know,” continued Sirius in a conversational tone. “I know I can be stupid and slow in figuring shit out sometimes, but please, don’t give me that look, okay?”

“Or to fictional characters on screen,” added Severus quickly.

“I see,” deadpanned Voldemort.

“I believe that’s something he picked up from Aya,” he explained.

Voldemort thought back to playing Fran Bow with Aya, how she liked to voice act and comment on events and characters, and saw a parallel.

They reached the sitting room, where they found Sirius focussed on the TV screen.

“Sirius, Voldemort is here,” drawled Severus.

“Greetings,” he said, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

“Please, take a seat, I’ll go prepare the tea,” said Severus.

Voldemort sat down a few inches away from Sirius and quietly observed what was happening in front of them and how Black’s fingers moved over the buttons. A minute or so later of silence, he apparently reached the end of the level and started singing in tune with the winning melody. Then, he set down the device in his hands and turned to him.

“Sorry about that,” he said apologetically, “but I was so close to the ending, I needed to finish the level. Anyway, welcome to my house with Sev.” He grinned.

Voldemort nodded.

While they waited for Severus to join them, so they could discuss revealing sensitive information to Remus Lupin, they made some small talk, mostly about how they were doing, if everything was all right and how the opening of the twins’ joke shop went. Before they knew it, roughly ten minutes have passed, and Severus came in with a tray, carrying a teapot and three teacups.

After each of them had a tea-filled cup, they focussed on the topic of conversation he came for, letting Remus Lupin know about sensitive information.

Crossing his arm across his chest, Voldemort spoke to Sirius shrewdly, “Aya told me you want Remus Lupin to be made aware of Barty spying on him and informed about a few other things directly related to me.”

“That’s correct,” confirmed Sirius. “Remus and I might not be close friends like before, when we were students, but hiding things from him, especially Barty keeping an eye on him, feels wrong, and since he’s a werewolf, he has heightened senses and he could help Barty spy more effectively on Dumbledore.”

“While I see the benefit of having a werewolf infiltrated at Hogwarts and in good graces with Dumbledore working for me, I doubt this particular one will want to side or even co-operate with me and my cause simply because you have changed sides. And even you two aren’t necessarily siding with me because you agree with my ideology and vision, but because of your daughter,” said Voldemort in a no-nonsense tone.

“If you can present your stance and your plans as the leader of our community in a satisfactory manner and your plans aren’t morally questionable, then I don’t know why he wouldn’t be okay with siding with you,” shrugged Sirius. “And yes, it’s true that Sev and I are still wary about you and your intentions,” he admitted, “but we know Aya and we trust her judgement, despite her specific personal tastes and preferences. So, if she’s supporting you and believes in you and your vision for British wizardkind – plus, she’s actively involved in the process of change and betterment of our society – then Sev and I have nothing to really complain about.”

“Even so, my past actions don’t speak in my favour and the fact that I work closely with Fenrir Greyback also works against me,” he pointed out. “On the other hand, Dumbledore gave him a chance to attend Hogwarts and get a formal education and, if it weren’t for Dumbledore ordering you to brew Wolfsbane potion for him,” he said directly to Severus, “you probably wouldn’t be brewing it for him of your own volition.”

“Most likely not,” agreed Severus.

“Well, that certainly complicates things,” sighed Sirius. “Both Greyback and what Dumbledore did for him. They would certainly be the two main reasons for Moony not to want to be your supporter.”

“I’m glad you understand that.”

“However, I also know that Moony hates being a werewolf, and unless Sev or any other Potions Master can develop a cure for lycanthropy, then he will remain a werewolf until his dying day. Maybe if one of the changes includes bettering the place of werewolves in society, he might have more reasons to join, but if not, then maybe he can at least remain a neutral party of sorts.”

“Whether he decides to join or not, for him to even make a decision, he would need to know delicate information and I can’t risk him divulging it to anyone, especially Dumbledore, in case he decides not to come to my side or remain neutral. For that reason, I need him to sign this enchanted piece of parchment of secrecy beforehand.” He reached into his pocket and handed said parchment to Sirius. “Just like how I had Aya’s friends sign it through Aya, when she wanted to tell them about our relationship.”

Sirius and Severus inspected the parchment and its conditions. “So … this is like a contract of sorts?” asked Sirius.

“Yes, the person who signs it is then sworn to secrecy and they are physically unable to reveal the information without my explicit authorisation in any form, willingly or unwillingly.”

“I will have him sign it, but don’t worry, I have a good feeling about Moony,” assured him Sirius. “He might need some convincing, but I think I can manage to do it.” He sounded so convinced.

“Then invite him for lunch or something tomorrow. Aya and I will adopt Barty in the morning, then, we will come here, talk with Lupin and have a meeting with the doctor. Right, I need you two to write to Healer Marcus and let him know the time and place of Aya’s medical check-up.” He handed the healer’s contact information and the time and place of the meeting to Severus. “We need to agree on the details of Aya’s illness.”

“What kind of illness will we say she has?” inquired Severus.

“Migraines,” responded Voldemort, “which are really painful and prolonged headaches that can severely impair a person’s everyday life.”

“Will it be convincing enough for Dumbledore?”

“It should be. We’ll arrange it so it will be a convincing reason, even if he decides to investigate, but we’ll determine everything tomorrow. You just make sure Marcus gets the time and place from you and to make it look like you’re scheduling for a medical appointment,” Voldemort instructed them. “As for Lupin, I hope you know what you’re doing Black.”

“Of course I know what I’m doing. Just leave everything to me,” he announced proudly. Both Severus and Voldemort exchanged sceptical looks.

…

Meanwhile, Aya was at home writing invitations to Voldemort’s inner circle of Death Eaters, inviting them to Barty’s party before his official start as the History Professor at Hogwarts. She was about halfway through the list, when Barty crossed the foyer and headed for the door.

“Barty,” she called after him. He stopped in his tracks. “Where are you going?”

“I … uh … noticed I need to run some errands.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“What kind of errands?”

“A few things for History.”

“Will you be back by lunch?”

“Most likely not.”

“Just how many errands do you have to do?” asked Aya, horrified. “You are going to Diagon Alley, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said. However, that wasn’t actually true. Nor did the bit about errands have anything to do with his teaching post, but he’d promised his … father to collect as many texts on immortality as possible without Aya’s knowledge and that’s what he was going to do.

“Do you even have any money to go eat something while you’re doing errands?”

“Winky made a lunchbox for me, so I should be more than fine.” He showed her the box, which was the size of a hefty hardback book.

“Wait here,” she told him and went upstairs to grab her wallet. Then, she walked up to him and gave him fifteen pounds. “In case you need it.”

Barty stared at his hands and the money. “What am I even going to do with it?”

“You’re going to Diagon Alley, right?” He nodded. “Then convert it at the bank if you need it.”

“Thank you, but I’m really going to be fine with Winky’s lunchbox.” He attempted to return the money, but Aya wouldn’t have it.

“Take it,” she insisted, “even if you don’t end up using it. But for now, keep it, just in case.”

With a defeated sigh, he pocketed the money. “Thank you.” He smiled and she smiled back at him.

“Be careful and take care.”

She hugged him. He froze momentarily, unprepared for the gesture. Then, he recovered and hugged back. “I swear you sound and act like my mother.”

They separated and she looked up at him. “Well, I kind of already am so … better get used to it.”

Barty chuckled.

“Just stay safe.”

He nodded with a fond smile. “I will,” he promised and left, while Aya returned to writing the invitations.

After she finished, she stretched her upper body for a bit, then decided to stretch her legs as well by taking a walk to the local market and buying some local farm produce, namely corn, since it was in season and it wouldn’t be in season for long.

She informed Winky and Kreacher she would just go to the market and back and with the remaining muggle money, she headed to her destination. She was in luck and got a small crate of maize, a pound of blueberries and a pound of blackberries for a much lower price than if she bought the same amount of produce in a supermarket, which worked fine with her.

Shortly after she returned with the food she was craving, Voldemort came back from his two appointments smelling like freshly baked bread, rain and sun-bathed skin and any attempt Aya had of working on the list of changes for her educational proposal went flying out the window before lunch, in favour of making love with her delicious and sexy husband.

…

The official name change from Tom Marvolo Riddle to Voldemort Peverell and blood adoption ritual at Gringotts went without a hitch … or at the very least; there were no immediate undesirable consequences and overt changes to Barty’s physical appearance. From there, the three of them headed to Grimmauld Place, where Sirius had already invited Remus under the guise of eating lunch with him and Severus.

With Voldemort and Barty’s disguise in place, they waited for the door to open. Like the day before, Severus was the one to open the door. Aya immediately greeted him with an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Voldemort and Barty limited themselves to a nod and a verbal greeting.

As they entered the sitting room, where Sirius and Remus were talking, both men looked at the new arrivals. Sirius got up from the sofa and hugged Aya. When Sirius’ attention turned to Voldemort and Barty, he cleared his throat and faced Remus again.

“Remus, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said carefully. “However, it’s very delicate and very secret. No one must know about it.”

Remus immediately became wary. “Sirius, you’re worrying me.”

“I promise it’s nothing too bad,” Sirius hurried to reassure him, “but it might be shocking at first.”

“Okay, what’s happening?” he asked, looking confused at all of them. “Does this have anything to do with them?” he pointed to Voldemort and Barty in disguise.

“Uh … yes,” answered Sirius. “However, I can’t tell you anything until you sign this contract of secrecy.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the parchment.

Remus arched an eyebrow at Sirius’ request. “A contract?” he repeated. “Just what do you have to tell me that would require me to sign a secrecy contract?”

He sighed. “Like I said, Moony, I can’t say until you’ve signed the parchment.”

Remus studied everyone present with wariness, but curiosity seemed to be stronger than caution, because he signed the contract and bound himself to silence.

As soon as he was magically bound to secrecy, Voldemort undid the glamours on himself and Barty and Remus blanched when he recognised Voldemort’s appearance.

“Excellent,” Voldemort walked up to Sirius to take the contract and pocket it. “Now that that is taken care of, we can proceed with our objective.” He turned to Lupin. “I believe we haven’t met in person yet,” he said politely, “but I presume you are aware of who I am, judging by your pale and terror-stricken countenance.”

“Sirius,” he breathed, with eyes fixed on Voldemort, “what is the meaning of this? Why is You-Know-Who here? I thought he was gone.”

“Well, as you can see, Mr. Lupin, I’m not gone,” answered Voldemort matter-of-factly. “I am keeping away from the public for now, but I have a body and I do intend to reveal myself again at some point to take over magical Britain. As for why I’m here, I came here to talk about a few things, some of them concerning you.”

“What do you want with me?” he asked curtly.

“With you, nothing. From you, a couple of things.”

“Why don’t we sit down?” suggested Aya. “It will be much easier to talk.”

“Excellent idea, pup,” agreed Sirius enthusiastically. “And Moony, please, keep an open mind. I swear this isn’t as bad as it seems.”

Once everyone was seated on the sofa, with Remus keeping a safe distance from Voldemort, they continued their conversation.

“I’m listening,” said Remus.

“Starting this school year,” began Voldemort, “there will be a new History Professor at Hogwarts, Benjamin Chapman, or rather Barty Crouch.”

“Peverell,” corrected Aya.

“Barty Peverell.”

Remus’ eyes widened as he stared at Barty. “Barty Crouch Jr.? As far as I know, he is dead. He died in Azkaban.”

“That’s what public thinks and believes,” said Voldemort, “but as you can see, he’s very much alive and if he feels like telling you how he survived, he will tell you that story at some later date. After all, you two will be colleagues starting next Monday, and will have plenty of time and opportunity to talk about it,” he said with a fake smile.

“However, there’s a catch, you see. Barty will not only be the History Professor at Hogwarts, but also my spy. He will keep me informed about everything that goes on at Hogwarts … even you and your werewolf transformations.”

Remus’ eyes widened and he paled again. “You know,” he breathed.

“That you’re a werewolf? Yes, I do, but you don’t have to worry about anything as long as there are no incidents, but with Barty keeping an eye on you I’m sure there won’t be any, will they?”

Remus was shaking his head, horrified. “I understand why you want to keep me under surveillance, but it’s too dangerous for Barty to accompany me even with me taking the wolfsbane potion.”

“Professor,” said Aya gently, “have more faith in yourself and your wolf.”

He huffed self-deprecatingly.

“You know, maybe if you were in sync with your inner wolf, you wouldn’t have to worry about incidents,” she suggested. “I’m sure the wolf feels really hurt and sad by your rejection. If you couple that with keeping him sedated and calm all the time, the fact that you keep him in a tight, secluded space, that you don’t let him stretch his limbs by running in nature, that you don’t let him play, or that he’s not allowed to hunt animals when hungry, no wonder he’s cranky and he lashes out. I would be cranky too if I were an oversized feral dog.”

Remus looked at her as if she had just said something crazy.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is. Let your inner wolf run freely in the Forbidden Forest, let him explore, hunt animals, be a wolf. You’ll see that once he’s had a good run around Hogwarts grounds, a good meal, and some fun playing with a ball, he’ll be too full and tired to do much else for the rest of the night. And if Barty is there, he can pet him too. I’m sure the wolf wouldn’t mind receiving that sort of affection from someone. He would probably appreciate a mate as well, but having someone pet him would probably chase away the loneliness as well.”

Now both Barty and Remus looked at her as if she had lost all of her marbles.

“Don’t give me that look, I’m serious,” she huffed haughtily. “Seriously, I apparently know more about dogs and wolves than you do about werewolves and you’ve been teaching about them in Defence for the past three and a half years and you’ve been one since you were what? Four? Five? Yet I seem to understand your inner wolf’s needs and wants better than you do. Shame on you. Animal lovers would call you wolf abuser for how you’ve been treating your inner wolf,” she chastised him.

Remus and everyone in the room were speechless.

“Aya’s not wrong you know,” said Sirius, remembering all the times James, Peter and he kept Moony distracted and occupied with chasing them and playing with them and there was nothing violent or dangerous in the wolf’s posture and gestures. “Moony could really do with some company, food, exercise and fun.”

“Not you too, Sirius.”

“I’m talking from experience as Padfoot who kept Moony company together with Wormtail and Prongs,” he said gently. “Never once did Moony attack us or show signs of danger and violence. He was like an oversized dog, having fun with his three odd friends.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” he said sarcastically. “That I stop taking wolfsbane potion and that, instead of being cooped up in the Shrieking Shack, I should run amok, hunting and eating and having fun?”

“Pretty much, yes,” deadpanned Aya.

Remus shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway,” he changed the subject of the conversation, “I suppose you want me to do something for you,” he looked at Voldemort.

“I want you to assist Barty in spying on Dumbledore. You have good hearing, sight and smell, so why not use them for spying.”

“What if I refuse to do it?”

Voldemort shrugged. “If you don’t want to spy on Dumbledore to help my cause, you don’t have to, I won’t force you. It’s not as if I expected you to agree to do it from the get-go.”

“And even if I accepted, why would I even want to co-operate and aid someone like you rise to power, when the last time you tried to take control of magical Britain resulted in a war and so much suffering and death? How do I know that this time, it will be different? How do I know you won’t resort to violent warfare?”

“Because I’m aware of the faults in our society and I want to better it, and I can do that by being in charge. By having the power to modify laws. The first time I went about seizing power … things got out of hand, very violent and gruesome. I was also in a different state of mind at the time. I still enjoy torturing and killing, but I will indulge in them in extreme cases. This time round, I plan to go about it peacefully, but I will not hesitate to retaliate with force and violence, should Dumbledore, the Order or any other rebel faction attack my family, my forces and me.”

“And what sort of changes do you intend to implement to improve British wizard society?”

“Nothing is still set in stone, but my main objective is to ensure that all wizards and factions such as werewolves, vampires, goblins and other forms of intelligent magical life can co-exist in a symbiotic manner and that everyone has fundamental rights, such as education, equality before the law, to own property, adequate living standard, freedom from discrimination, etcetera.” Voldemort enumerated.  “We need a strong and unified community who will be able to stand together in the face of external threats to our freedom and security, such as muggles or even foreign magical communities.”

Remus seemed to consider it, yet he didn’t look entirely convinced.

“I know that you owe your formal education and regular supplies of wolfsbane potion to Dumbledore,” said Voldemort. “However, you aren’t the only turned werewolf in the country, yet I don’t think Dumbledore has ever gone to the same lengths for other turned children to get them an education at Hogwarts.”

“You don’t know that,” argued Remus. “It’s not something you go announcing publically, but you are right in that during my Hogwarts years, it is quite possible that I was the only werewolf on the premises.” He thought for a bit. “Even now, I seem to be the only werewolf at school,” he concluded with a pensive frown. “If Dumbledore arranged more places for werewolf transformation in the school’s vicinity, like he did for me with the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow, I am unaware of that information.”

“True. I might be wrong in my claim but, since you’re a werewolf, you can sense other werewolves and if you haven’t sensed another werewolf at school, it’s because it’s highly unlikely that Dumbledore harboured other turned child werewolves at Hogwarts,” sneered Voldemort. “So tell me, what makes you so different and special for Dumbledore to go out of his way to help you specifically?”

“What are you implying?”

“That Dumbledore probably had some ulterior motive when he offered a place at Hogwarts to you, when, as I said, many children were turned, mostly the children of werewolf hunters as revenge and a way to ensure that werewolves wouldn’t die out as a species, after being pushed to the brink of extinction by werewolf hunters. Does that mean that those other unfortunate children were inferior to you and thus had less right to a formal education at Hogwarts than you?”

Remus stared at Voldemort, lost for words.

“Dumbledore might have been your saviour, but by giving you the chance to have a normal education, he has doomed the rest of turned werewolf children and their parents to fend for themselves to the best of their abilities,” he said. “If he wanted to help werewolves, he would probably employ more werewolves too, yet it would seem that you remain the only werewolf privileged enough to both education and employment. Rather unfair of him, wouldn’t you say?” he asked shrewdly and he could see the seed of doubt take root in Remus’ mind; however, it still wasn’t enough.

“As I said before, if you don’t want to work for me by spying on Dumbledore, I won’t force you and if you do end up working for me, fear not, I will not brand you with the dark mark. However, if you do end up working for me, just be aware that I also work closely with Fenrir Greyback.” He saw the werewolf pale in horror. “Judging by your reaction, you know him.”

“He’s the one who turned me into a werewolf,” he said quietly.

“Well, if your parents were werewolf hunters, then he most likely did it for the reasons I have already stated: revenge and to preserve the species. It’s unfortunate for you, but it is what it is, and there are other things that are worse than being a werewolf. However, regardless of your decision, you already signed the secrecy contract, which means that I don’t have to worry about you telling anything about what was said here today to anyone without my explicit permission, and with or without your assistance, I will become the leader of the British magical community.”

The werewolf sighed, rubbing his forehead. Then, he looked at Sirius. “Do you support him?”

He nodded. “My daughter supports him and his plans sound good. We’ll see if he follows through with what he’s promising, but it’s in his best interest to do as he says, because only with actions it will be evident how truthful he is in his intentions and claims; and if he wants support and avoid armed conflict, then he better fulfil everything he’s promising, even if it takes years.”

“I need time to think,” said Remus. “I can’t decide on the spot.”

“Take your time; just try not to take too long. Try to have an answer for me by the fifteenth of August.”

He nodded and intended to leave, but Sirius stopped him, insisting he stay for lunch. Reluctantly, he stayed and shortly after that, the doorbell chimed and Aya went to open the door.

…

After arranging the details of Aya’s migraines, the healer excused himself and left, and Aya went to the kitchen to prepare some pasta and tomato sauce for lunch.

Following lunch, where Remus learned about a few other shocking things, such as Aya and Voldemort being engaged and expecting triplets and learning when and how it all happened, Aya and Voldemort spent most of the afternoon searching the internet for the necessary equipment and installation companies for their off-grid electricity. All the while, Aya’s comatose mobile phone was recharging and the other four men were playing videogames, while Sirius was trying to give advice to Remus about how he could connect with his wolf through meditation and Remus was reluctantly listening.

As the afternoon progressed, Barty started to feel under the weather. Aya noticed it and immediately asked him what was wrong.

“Nothing, I just feel some pain in my abdomen area.”

She checked his forehead to see if he was feverish and he was. “Are you experiencing any nausea or dizziness?”

“A bit.”

“Do you feel like you need to take a dump?”

“Sort of,” he was massaging the pained area, “but I already went to the toilet and I couldn’t get anything out.”

“I can brew you some rosehip tea, which is good for stomach cramps and pains, but if the pain doesn’t subside or gets worse, then we should probably call Marcus so he can check you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” protested Barty weakly. “I’m sure that, whatever this is, I’ll be fine in a day or two, so there’s no need for a healer or any kind of medicine.”

“Well, it isn’t food poisoning,” she said casually, “because we all ate the same thing and as you can see the rest of us are completely fine. No diarrhoea, vomiting our guts out or stomachaches. So, either you’re developing something on your own or the effects of the blood adoption ritual are starting to kick in. If it’s the latter, what did I tell you? If we go through blood adoption while I’m pregnant with triplets, my pregnancy hormones will fuck your entire shit up from the inside.”

“It’s not even that bad.”

“Don’t underestimate the potency of my pregnancy hormones,” she warned him. “Because I’m expecting triplets, the amount is higher than usual and, if they suddenly enter your blood stream, it’s a shock for your system.”

“Just get me some rosehip tea,” he sighed, rubbing his feverish forehead.

Aya headed to the kitchen to prepare the tea, while Barty did his best to brave through the weird sensation in his lower abdomen region, completely unaware of Remus' discrete inspection of his scent and the changes it was going through alongside his body.

…

For the next three days, Aya and Voldemort busied themselves with setting up electricity.

The first day, they bought all the necessary things and arranged for an installation company to send as many of their workers to Little Hangleton, where Voldemort put them under Imperio to make them work faster and more efficiently, so the entire process of re-wiring, installing solar panels and connecting everything together could be completed in the following two days. Once the workers were done, he modified their memories so they had no recollection of Little Hangleton or their house.

While Voldemort supervised the workers, Aya tended to the party preparations and Barty, who continued to feel under the weather, but was too stubborn to let her call for a healer. Even when she offered him painkillers, he refused them. It would seem he really didn’t like healers and medicine.

Luckily, his health improved on Saturday, a day before the party. Together with his health, his appearance changed as well. His hair got darker and messier, his blue eyes turned hazel, his complexion became paler, and he lost most of his freckles. His bone structure didn’t change much, if at all, but there were enough changes that one would have to look really attentively to associate him with Barty Crouch’s son.

When Voldemort saw the changes, his only comment was, “At least now you won’t have to worry about a disguise.”

…

On the day of the party, at around two o’clock in the afternoon, the guests began to arrive and Aya greeted cordially every single one of them, already trying to see how well she did in learning and remembering their names. So far so good, it would seem.

She let them mingle for a bit, making sure, everyone had something to drink and snack on. She saw Voldemort engage in a conversation with the elders of the group, his former classmates, while the rest formed small groups to talk among themselves.

Aya noticed that Barty wasn’t really mingling with any of the guests, but rather standing in a corner of the living room with a glass of water in hand, looking pale and miserable. She approached him.

“What is worrying you?”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “The teaching, the spying, working with a werewolf. If you have any practical advice on how to deal with a werewolf, it would be much appreciated.”

She leaned against the wall next to him and crossed her arms. “Well, first of all,” she began, “you mustn’t show fear. Then, I would always be equipped with food, whether dog biscuits, canned dog food or any kind of meat, though they probably prefer juicy, raw meat above all else. Preferably if you bring them an actual animal that they can then maul and tear apart, would be even better. But just feeding them would be a great way to win a werewolf over too,” she announced confidently.

Barty gaped at her.

“Then, always have a couple of dog toys on hand as well, either a ball to play catch or some of those squeaky ones.”

“What if it attacks me even after giving him food and toys to play?”

She sighed. “Like I said on Wednesday, to me, werewolves are oversized feral dogs and if they don’t feel threatened or hungry, then they aren’t likely to just attack people. They might act on instinct, but they aren’t mindless or stupid. Wolves and dogs are intelligent creatures. You might need to train them to behave in a certain way with positive enforcement, meaning you reward desirable behaviour, usually with food, praise or affection, but, once they are trained, there shouldn’t be any major problems.”

“I don’t know about it,” grimaced Barty sceptically. “I’m not sure it might work.”

She located Fenrir with her gaze and went to fetch him to ask him about her theory on how to deal with a werewolf.

“I have I question for you, Greyback,” she said, when she returned to Barty.

“What would you like to know?”

“Would it be possible to appease a werewolf with food and toys?”

He looked at her weirdly. “Technically speaking, yes. That way eating and playing distracts them from the pain they are experiencing due to the transformation.”

“See?” She turned to Barty. “I was right. Listen to your mother because she knows what she’s talking about, even if she’s half your age,” she announced smugly.

“And if the werewolf still decides to bite my hand off despite me feeding him and playing with him and petting him?” insisted Barty.

“Then you smack him real good over the muzzle,” she swatted the air to demonstrate it, “and say, ‘Nah, bitch, I don’t think so.’” Then, she faced Fenrir again.

“You mentioned pain during transformation.” He nodded. “Is there any way to treat the ache in the joints, bones and muscles? Because pain can make an animal violent as well.”

“Not really, especially once you turn into wolf form. One just has to get used to it and brave through the pain. Maybe one can mitigate the pain when they turn back into the human form with pain-relief potions, but most werewolves don’t have access to those since they cost money and werewolves aren’t really seen as citizens and they don’t have jobs, which leaves them in poverty.”

“My husband will improve werewolves’ living conditions and their place in society, and I’m thinking of opening spa centres for werewolves,” she said excitedly.

Greyback’s eyes widened. “Spa centres?” he repeated, frowning in confusion.

“Yes. They will be establishments that will offer several therapeutic services to werewolves in their human and wolf forms, such as aromatherapy, massages, and healing baths. And since they will be designed specifically for werewolves, they will have enough land for werewolves to run, hunt and play. They would be like a safe haven for all werewolves and the prices would be very affordable,” she said enthusiastically, only for her to sigh and start enumerating all the difficulties this particular idea had from the beginning. “However, one needs to set everything up, get the right equipment, get the right staff with the required qualifications, but as of yet, there are no professional wizard massage therapists neither for people much less for werewolves, so, we need to figure that out, but once we have everything working, I think it would work really well for werewolves.”

Greyback seemed to consider the idea that Aya was presenting. “That idea sounds good and has potential, but it is as you said, until everything is set up, it doesn’t do anything for us. However, the sentiment and thought of improving a werewolf’s condition is very much appreciated.”

She grinned. “It’s the least werewolves deserve.”

“I see you three are in deep discussion.” All three turned to the source of the voice.

“Darling,” she said excitedly and Voldemort’s hand slipped around her waist. They exchanged a brief kiss with one another. Then, she noticed that others were accompanying him as well, Bellatrix too, who was trying to kill her with her gaze. “Yes, I was just discussing werewolves with Barty and Mr. Greyback.”

“Your mate has some very good and thoughtful ideas.”

Aya beamed and Voldemort was intrigued. After summarising the main points of their conversation, Raphael Lestrange saw it fit to ask Aya about certain things.

“Pray tell, Miss Potter, what is your opinion on dark magic? Do you think that dark magic should be legal or illegal?”

“I’m not really sure what the definition of dark magic even is, but I would tell you that I wouldn’t prohibit _any_ kind of magic.”

The Lestrange men, Bellatrix, Rosier, Nott, Mulciber and Avery seniors all looked at her in evident shock. Now, the rest of the Death Eaters were also inching closer to where they were to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You would allow even the darkest of spells and rituals to be legal?” inquired Rosier, impressed.

She shrugged. “Sure, why not? Even if there were cannibalistic or human sacrifice rituals, I would let them be legal. It’s not like spells and rituals can do harm on their own,” she reasoned. “They need a human to perform them, otherwise they are completely harmless. And as someone who shapes the law, you have to ask yourself what do you punish: Do you punish the person and the criminal act or the means through which someone has committed a crime?”

“The crime and the criminal of course,” said Rodolphus as if it was obvious.

“I agree with you Rodolphus, but not everyone would say the same. Just look at the justice system right now: the use of ‘Unforgivables’ means automatic imprisonment, dark and obscure rituals are either illegal or discouraged, bewitching someone with a love potion gets laughed off as some harmless thing. It would seem that the Ministry is prohibiting spells and rituals that they deem harmful and evil; if that were so then it leaves me wondering why they haven’t prohibited 95% of all magic by now, because unless it’s a strictly healing spell, perhaps even a shielding charm, everything else can be fatal or extremely dangerous,” she pointed out. “For example, you can behead someone with a Diffindo, you can levitate a heavy object onto someone to crush them to death, you can use Mobilicorpus to levitate someone over the edge of a cliff or out the window and let them fall to their death, heck, even Lumos and Nox can be deadly or at least extremely dangerous.”

All of the present Death Eaters looked baffled.

“How can Lumos and Nox be remotely dangerous or fatal?” wondered Avery.

“A sudden, very bright Lumos could easily blind someone,” she said matter-of-factly. “And imagine you’re fighting in a dark enclosed space, with Lumos as the only source of light and you put out that light. Your opponent could easily trip in the dark and fall on their head, crack it open or break their necks and, just like that, they are either badly injured or instantly dead.”

They gaped at her.

“So, in that case, all magic should be prohibited according to the current way the Ministry is handling crime punishment and prevention. After all, everything that has the potential to be used for harm should be prohibited, right?” she asked rhetorically. “However, this is a very dangerous path of crime prevention that can quickly escalate to the most bizarre outcome possible, because at every level that you prohibit something, those determined enough would just find a different way of killing and hurting others. The entire thing would be so ridiculous that in the end you would have to mutilate people’s bodies to the point of them being unable to eat and move, because guess what, hands, teeth, and legs can all be used to kill and hurt someone. Wizards only have to _want_ to do something and they can kill a person without ever speaking anything. Does that mean we should start mutilating and killing people from birth to prevent them from becoming criminals? If yes, well, congratulations,” she said happily, clapping, “you have successfully prevented crime, but in the process you’ve ruined humankind.”

It was clear she was speaking with sarcasm, but they were all still speechless.

“My approach, on the other hand, might seem like everyone is allowed to do anything they want, but just because there isn’t a law that says Avada Kedavra is illegal, if you kill a person in whatever way you choose, it doesn’t take away the fact that you killed someone which _IS_ punishable by law. I like to operate on the premise, just because you can do something, doesn’t necessarily mean that you should. So, just because you can perform cannibalistic and human sacrifice rituals, doesn’t mean that you should perform them, because you can bet it isn’t fun for the one being used as the sacrificial lamb. Unless, of course, they have somehow given their consent to be killed in the ritual, in which case there should be some form of legal procedure to confirm that the sacrifice is doing it willingly and not under force or influence of any kind.”

“And would the same apply to cannibals and werewolves?” asked Fenrir.

“If they kill another person so they can eat them, when we all know that humans are _not_ the only food source for both cannibals and werewolves. However, if they stumble upon a human corpse and decide to eat it, they can do it without facing any charges.”

She took in a deep breath. “My apologies,” she said politely, “I seem to have digressed from the original question a bit, but I hope I made my stance on magic and law quite clear.”

“So, you agree then that old magic rituals performed on Beltane, Samhain and Yule should be allowed?” asked Raphael.

“Yes. I might not necessarily partake in them, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t be allowed to perform them if you want to, whether they require you to be naked or to willingly offer your blood or the blood of a farm animal. You do you. Celebrate your culture and community. However, I have a feeling you’re also asking me something else, aren’t you?” she asked with an overly polite smile. “I think you want to know my opinion on muggleborns and half-bloods. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is after all something that most of us feel very strongly about,” he replied.

“Well, I think that the classification of wizards by blood status is utter bullshit.” Every single Death Eater, with exception of Barty looked scandalised by the statement. “Because guess what, I have a news flash for you, everyone with the ability to do magic is a witch or a wizard, doesn’t matter how they got it or where they got it from, the fact is that they are wizardkind. The real difference and the real problem that you people have with muggle-raised witches and wizards is the fact that they are ignorant about wizarding customs, that they are disregarding pureblood etiquette and apparently changing everything to suit them and their needs and that because of their parentage they represent a threat to magical Britain. Yet you don’t have the capacity to put yourselves in their shoes and understand the reasons for their ignorance and the cultural shock they are experiencing. If you’re so bloody bothered that they don’t know about the wizarding world and how it works, teach them. Put in the effort of helping them assimilate. If they are reluctant about a certain spell or ritual, explain it to them. I can assure you that if there was more initiative, patience and willingness to promote your culture on your part, there would be less complaining and slurs about muggle-raised witches and wizards. But I suppose it’s easier to criticise, complain and hate on someone instead.”

She paused and looked at the gathered followers.

“And don’t even get me started on the claim that purebloods are more powerful than half-bloods and muggleborns, because that’s another pile of bullshit.” With this claim, she ruffled their feathers again. “If anything, at the rate you purebloods are inbreeding, sooner or later you’re going to end up like Charles II of Spain, the last Habsburg ruler of the Spanish Empire: ugly as fuck, stupid and impotent. Let me show you what I’m talking about,” she reached for her mobile phone and googled Charles II of Spain to show them a picture.

“Look at him. Honestly, I feel bad for him, but even I with my weird taste wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him, okay? Do you want to end like him? Do you want to die out, because if that’s so, just keep marrying your cousins and aunts and uncles maybe a sibling or two and in just a few generations you will die out,” she said with sarcasm. “Heck, everyone in the British wizarding community is related one way or another, so you see just how bad it is.”

“So, what are you saying?” snarled Bellatrix. “That we should breed with muggles?”

“That’s certainly one way to avoid incest,” deadpanned Aya.

“Why would we want to breed with someone inferior?” sneered Lucius. “And in case you’ve forgotten, muggles have always persecuted us. They have always treated us like freaks.”

“Malfoy,” she looked at him with annoyance, “shut your ass up.” He looked insulted and furious. “If the only thing coming out of your mouth will be ignorant bullshit like that, better keep your mouth shut. The same goes for the rest of you.”

She encompassed all of them with her index finger. “Before saying how inferior and horrible muggles are, look at yourselves first, because if you think you are in any way superior or better than muggles, you’re sorely mistaken, you bunch of hypocrites,” she accused.

Several of them attempted to complain and object, but she shut down every single one of them.

“You accuse muggles of treating you like freaks and dirt for having magic, yet how do you treat those with no magic? Do you treat them any better?” No one answered. “No, no you don’t,” she answered for them. “Squibs are the prime example of how hypocritical you are in your claims. You condemn muggles who neglect or abuse their magical children, yet you are no better in raising a squib child. In fact, you cast them out of the family; you hide and erase their existence from the family trees, because apparently having a squib in the family is the worst thing that can happen to a magical family!” she yelled furiously.

She paused to calm down.

“Apparently, to you, a human only has value if they have and can do magic; otherwise they are worthless, dirt. And yes … to most muggles we are freaks … abnormals, and to most of you, muggles are just inferior, insignificant insects, because they don’t have magic. Of course, muggles can be horrible, but you can be just as horrible, so don’t act like you’re all saints and martyrs here, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

She sighed.

“And if you’re so bothered by squibs, then instead of complaining about them, why has none of you magnificent, intelligent, powerful, great purebloods developed a potion or a ritual to make squibs capable of performing magic?” She taunted and she could see in their faces that they didn’t appreciate the tone she was using or the words she was speaking, but she could see glimmers of embarrassment, because they knew, deep down that she was telling the truth.

“The same could be said for lycanthropy. If you are afraid of werewolves, then why haven’t you developed a cure for it, instead of killing them indiscriminately?”

“If you’re so smart, then why don’t you develop it,” sneered Goyle.

She sent a deadpan look his way. “Because, Mr. Goyle, I’m not bothered by squibs or werewolves and as such I don’t have the desire to develop anything.”

Raphael Lestrange sneered at her. “Are you saying that you would be okay with having a werewolf or a squib for a child?”

“Yes,” she said simply, taking him aback. She dared a glance at Voldemort, who was also looking at her in surprise. “Don’t give me that look,” she told him, “Squibs are still magical, the only difference is that they can’t do magic, but they can still feel it, see it. It’s not as if being a squib makes them mentally or physically impaired, dammit. They still function normally. And I bet you don’t even know why squibs are even a thing in the first place,” she mocked them.

“And you do?” Raphael snarled.

“I do. Any person with some basic knowledge of genetics would know, but I suppose you don’t know what genetics even are,” she spoke condescendingly. “Because apparently when you’re a wizard you don’t need to know any scientific common knowledge anymore. You know, there’s a quote that goes something like this: If you know the enemy and yourself, you will win a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” She surveyed them. “I think it’s easy to say where you fall on the spectrum.”

She narrowed her eyes in thought. “What do you even know about muggles and yourselves?”

It was a rhetorical question, but she still paused to see if someone would have anything to say. As expected, there was silence.

“You could know all about magic, yet you still wouldn’t know yourselves or your enemy, because instead of keeping a close eye on the enemy, you are trying to keep as far away from them as possible and in the end, your arrogance can cost you not just your freedom or your lives, but also what makes you wizards.”

A few exchanged wary looks.

“Because believe me when I say that muggles are a threat, a much bigger threat than you might think. Maybe at the time you separated from them they were behind, but now, in the twenty-first century, they are far ahead of you. Because they have been genetically modifying organisms for years. Mostly food, but they can modify humans as well, give them so called ‘superpowers’, supernatural strength, supernatural speed, self-regeneration and many more. They’ve even attempted to clone animals, which is producing an exact copy of a living organism, and succeeded. They’re producing robots with human-like intelligence. They were even capable of growing a full-sized, functional heart in a lab. They can do so much that it’s both fascinating and terrifying.”

Death Eaters didn’t really understand everything she was saying, but they understood enough to realise that muggles might be hateful people, but they were far from puny or insignificant.

“At this rate,” she continued solemnly, “I dare say that given the opportunity, muggles wouldn’t even decide to exterminate us. At least not everyone and not from the get-go. They would keep us sedated, locked in a lab, performing all sorts of experiments, trying to decode what it biologically means to be a wizard, and then replicate that section of the genome that makes us magical and make artificial wizards. First, the soldiers and the police officers, then, eventually, even the masses would be able to afford becoming wizards. And just like they would be able to artificially produce wizards, they would also be capable of taking magic away.”

Shock and horror were clearly written on their faces. Although, there were a few who were sceptical about the truthfulness and gravity of Aya’s claims. To them, when they voiced their doubts, she said with an unnerving smile, “You don’t have to believe me. Sometimes, the only way for someone to understand something is if they go through it, just don’t say I didn’t warn you when you find yourselves in a muggle lab as their lab rat.”

She looked at the rest.

“I know that most, if not all, of you are bothered by my tone, by my words, by me,” she looked at Bellatrix, “and I’m sure that quite a few of you would probably curse me dead if you could, and you could certainly try, but I don’t know how well that would turn out for you.” She smirked at the woman and Bellatrix looked like she just might want to try her luck.

“It’s not my problem if you are too sensitive to handle the facts when they are presented to you. Luckily, my husband is learning to set aside his hatred for someone when it benefits him and wizardkind, even if you are not.” Her smile was overly sweet. “Although, I would strongly encourage that you learn from him, if you want to live comfortably, and while you are more than welcome to try to rebel against us, again, I don’t know how well that would go for you.” She faked concern.

The men and Narcissa Malfoy were silent, some thinking to themselves and others looking over at their fellow followers to exchange meaningful looks.

“And how would we avoid exploitation according to you?” prompted Rookwood, his tone neutral.

“First, we take care of any internal dissent,” she said calmly, “we need to be united, because if we turn on ourselves, when there aren’t that many of us in comparison to muggles, it’s like giving them the victory on a silver platter. Then, after we take care of our ‘civil conflict’ and improve our way of living, we work our asses off to catch up to the muggles technologically speaking, because magic can only get us so far, and surpass them, because if they have weapons of mass destruction, by the time they discover us, we will have our own … Hopefully,” she added.

“We will also need an intelligence network that will have access to all the important muggle functions and national secrets, just like what my husband is doing right now with you infiltrated at the Ministry, Hogwarts and Azkaban. This is where squibs would be ideal. If they volunteer, we could train them as spies and hackers and then we have them infiltrate muggle research facilities as employees and once they find any kind of information, they take photos of the documents or make copies and then they deliver them to us for inspection.”

Her gaze turned serious.

“However, if squibs would even want to help us, then we need to make sure they feel welcomed, loved and accepted in our community, that they are important and valuable. We mustn’t treat them as something to be ashamed of. Most of you have difficulty conceiving children.” She noticed Narcissa lower her gaze and place an absent hand on her abdomen.

“What if your only chance at having an heir and continuing the line happens to be a squib? Will you let your line die out, because you were incapable of swallowing your pride and let go of your pureblood nonsense? Because if you ask me, the only reason you believe yourselves superior is because your ancestors were treated as inferior beings at one point in history and, to feel important and valuable, you put yourselves on a pedestal. And you know what? It’s sad,” she said and meant it, “that you constantly need to tell yourselves that you are the best of the best, that you are the most superior race of wizards and people. That you have to treat others like they treated your predecessors to feel better about yourselves now and to convince yourselves that you are important, valuable and that you matter. You keep the cycle of hatred and violence going, because you can’t let go of the past, which hinders your present and future.”

As with everything she said thus far, there were those who only thought she was talking nonsense and were overtly rolling their eyes at her words to show their distaste, but there were also those, who didn’t immediately dismiss her speech as something inconsequential, but gave it some thought and credit. However, the thing that mattered the most to her was that she knew that Voldemort had listened to her every word and he would never dismiss her opinion as ridiculous or worthless, because they were a team … a power couple.

Bellatrix excused herself to go to the toilet. Not long after she left, Winky and Kreacher came to inform their masters and their guests that supper was waiting for them in the dining room, and they all moved towards it. When Bellatrix joined them, she was uncharacteristically giddy and happy.

Aya immediately found it suspicious, but kept her thoughts to herself … for the moment. If Bellatrix did anything … if she tried anything against her babies, her husband or her, she was a dead woman. She would personally make sure of that. She just hoped her husband, Rodolphus and Narcissa wouldn’t mind too much if she disposed of her, after torturing her real good, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That singing part with Sirius is directly inspired by an episode of Super Mario Maker 2 played by Dashie from dashiegames. Here's the link: https://youtu.be/8soEZimss5g?t=1859 (the part with the singing starts at around 31:02 and stops at around 31:14). However, Sirius isn't playing SMM2 but SMM. 😄


	10. Breaking Bellatrix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aya confronts Bellatrix, Barty starts working at Hogwarts and Severus informs Dumbledore about Aya's migraines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Due to increased workload, I will take a month-long break from all of my stories. Chapter 11 of Aya's Darling Voldemort will be posted on Friday, 4 October 2019 and from there, the regular biweekly (every two weeks) updating schedule should continue uninterruptedly until the end. Should my workload increase again, I will let you know, but let's hope it won't happen any time soon.
> 
> I apologise for the inconvenience and I hope you understand.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the chapter! 🤗

Her suspicions were confirmed when, shortly after they started eating dinner, with Aya on Voldemort’s left, Cthulhu materialised between them to warn them about spiked drinks.

“I would strongly advise you do not drink from either of your goblets,” he said casually, “because Rodolphus’ wife decided to spike Aya’s drink with poison and yours, Voldemort, with Amortentia, judging by the mother-of-pearl sheen.”

Both halted in their movements, exchanging gazes.

“While I’m about to detoxify Aya’s drink in a couple of minutes, I cannot detoxify yours if the contaminated liquid is not in direct contact with the horcrux,” he reminded him.

Aya’s jaw clenched, her grip on the spoon tightened, and anger was boiling inside her like a volcano. ‘ _That bitch!_ ’ she thought viciously. She chanced an inconspicuous look at the woman who was looking all happy and smug. ‘ _Be merry while you still can, because very soon I’ll wipe that smug expression off your face._ ’

It took every ounce of self-control not to lash out at the woman, to keep a straight face, and continue eating as if nothing was out of place.

Luckily, she was already plotting how she was going to out her in front of everyone, how she was going to humiliate her in front of others, and how she was going to put her in her place, and it brought a delighted smile on her face.

She reached for Voldemort’s hand and squeezed it gently, reassuringly tracing the back of his hand with her thumb, because Cthulhu’s words not only affected Aya, but him as well. Their eyes met and she did her best to flash him a bright, reassuring smile in hopes to calm him down, doing her best to tell him ‘ _Don’t worry. Leave it to me. I’ll handle this._ ’ with her eyes and touch.

He blinked slowly with a barely noticeable nod, and turned his hand so he could hold onto hers, a gesture that only served to amplify Aya’s smile. She brought his hand to her lips and, after placing a loving kiss on the back of it, nuzzled it too.

She waited for Cthulhu to give her permission to drink from the cup, before she gleefully took a sip of her water, which was now lavender and pear flavoured, let a few minutes pass, then offered a sip from it to Voldemort as well, since he couldn’t drink from his, unless he knocked it over and asked for a replacement.

The smirk on Bellatrix’s face quickly shifted to a grimace of horror as she heard and saw Aya offer a sip from her goblet to Voldemort. Before the liquid had the chance to touch his lips, she rose from her seat and shrieked, “No!”

Everyone froze, staring at her in confusion.

“What’s the matter, Bellatrix?” asked Aya innocently, she even managed to sound confused and concerned.

“You can’t give him to drink from your cup,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because – Because …” she struggled to find a believable explanation, “because he has his own drink, you don’t have to share yours with him.”

Aya looked unimpressed and stared blankly at Bellatrix. “I know he has his own drink, but I can still choose to share mine with him, I don’t see why that would be such a problem that you have to get off your seat and shout your disapproval.”

Bellatrix glared at her hatefully, gritting her teeth, almost foaming at the mouth with rage, until Rodolphus grabbed her wrist and yanked her back into her chair.

Maintaining eye contact with her, Aya smirked wickedly, with a calculative look in her eyes. “Although, with how adamant you are to prevent him from drinking from _my_ cup, I would say it’s not so much about him having his own drink and more about _mine_ having _something_ you don’t want to enter Voldemort’s system, isn’t that right, Bellatrix?”

The woman said nothing, but it was clear from her somewhat rigid frame and a slightly panicked expression, that she didn’t expect her to know about spiked drinks. Her implication had drawn the attention of other guests.

“What’s wrong, Bellatrix?” she prompted in a mocking tone. “Aren’t you going to say something? Or are you that surprised to know that I’m aware of you trying to poison my children and me?”

“Bella,” breathed Narcissa, horrified, “you didn’t. Please, tell me you didn’t,” she pleaded.

“Oh, she did,” answered Aya in Bellatrix’s stead. “And not only that, she even dared to spike my husband’s drink with Amortentia, thinking she would finally be able to get in his pants, because that’s the only way Voldemort would ever even consider being with her, under the influence of a love spell or potion.”

The Death Eaters looked scandalised and Bellatrix fumed, although there was an air of morbid satisfaction oozing off her. “I don’t know how you found out about the poison and Amortentia, but you still drank from your cup even after knowing it wasn’t safe to drink. As for Amortentia, who says he’s not already under its influence and you’re the one feeding it to him,” she snarled, rising from her seat again, leaning forward.

Aya raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Bitch, please,” she scoffed, also rising from her chair. “I _don’t_ _need_ to use a spell or a potion to make Voldemort want me. I myself am enough to keep him interested and completely enamoured. I mean, just look at this,” she gestured at herself. “I’m a masterpiece,” she flaunted. “I have everything a man like Voldemort could want in a partner, because not only do I look good,” she flipped her hair haughtily over her shoulder, “but I have the brains, the personality and the attitude to complement my appearance. Everything about me complements Voldemort. And what about you?” she taunted. “What do you have? … Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she said with glee.

Everyone’s eyes were on the two.

“You look terrible,” Aya began enumerating. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror recently? Because you definitely should and do something about that scarecrow appearance of yours. Then, it would seem that you’re not particularly intelligent either if you thought it was a good idea to mess with my children, my husband and me in _my own home_ and expected to get away with it. Your personality leaves much to be desired, you, as a person, are insufferable, and I pity Rodolphus for having to put up with you as his wife in the first place.”

She paused to take in the anger in Bellatrix’s feature and revel in it.

“As for the poison; bitch, do you seriously think I would purposefully harm my babies and myself in any way?” she huffed. “You see, my drink _was_ poisoned, until it wasn’t anymore, and it just became flavoured water.”

Bellatrix’s eyes widened in shock.

“You know, it will take more than that to even come _close_ to harming my family, because unlike your husband, who probably wouldn’t care much if anything bad happened to you, _my_ husband _does_ care for me and my well-being as well as our children’s well-being, and he’s making sure we’re well protected with _every_ _single_ _part_ of his being.”

Voldemort thought it was a shame that the spectral manifestations of his horcruxes were invisible to all others except him, Aya, and now Barty, because the sight before him, with all of his inanimate horcruxes protectively encompassing Aya on both sides, glowering at Bellatrix, was truly magnificent.

“As if I care about Rodolphus!” spat Bellatrix, wild-eyed, uncaring of what her family-in-law and the rest of the table thought. “I never wanted to marry him! The only one I ever wanted was the Dark Lord! I dedicated myself to him and his cause! I trained harder than anyone had; I did more than anyone did, in hopes that he would take an interest in me beyond that of a mere follower! He never did, but at least he never took an interest in anyone else, male or female, regardless of age, until _you_ came along and suddenly, he was all over you, announcing your relationship to the rest of us, threatening us with death and bodily harm if anything happened to you and those spawns you’re carrying!”

Aya kept her eyes on Bellatrix, not showing any reaction or emotion to her confession, but she wrapped the fingers of her left around the cup.

“I don’t care what you say, but nobody can get it out of my mind that you did something to the Dark Lord, because I refuse to believe that a teenage brat with as little magical knowledge and experience such as you could have ever captured the attention and the affection of the Dark Lord on her own!” ranted Bellatrix. “I might have failed getting rid of you and those parasites in your womb today, but I will continue trying to dispose of you and the bastards, until I have succeeded and liberated the Dark Lord from your influence!”

Before Bellatrix could say anything else, Aya splashed the remaining contents of the cup in Bellatrix’s face, making her gasp and freeze in surprise. Not letting her recover from the shock, she punched her in the nose with her right.

Bellatrix stumbled backwards, with a pained groan, clutching her nose and knocking over her chair. Immediately, Aya grasped the nearest wine bottle on the table and smashed it with force on her head, sending Bellatrix to the floor and holding onto her bleeding head, half-conscious.

Narcissa wanted to intervene and save her sister, but Lucius stopped her, silently shaking his head. The rest of the guests were speechless and in a state of shock, not really daring to say or do anything to stop the confrontation, because they didn’t want to end on the receiving end of Aya’s evident fury, even when her face was blank, or their Lord’s. Voldemort and his horcruxes, on the other hand, were mesmerised by the sight in front of them and were greatly enjoying what was happening.

With an expressionless face, Aya picked up her knife and walked over to the woman, where she proceeded to squeeze her by the throat and plunge the sharp knife into her abdomen.

“This,” she said softly, but due to the silence in the room, her voice carried easily to the rest, “is for attempting to drug and take advantage of my husband.” Bellatrix’s mouth was agape, gasping for air, her eyes blown wide open, staring at Aya and trying to free her throat.

“This,” she stabbed her three consecutive times, “is for trying to kill my babies.” Bellatrix was starting to go limp and the blood was beginning to soak through the clothes and onto her hand.

“And this … this is for trying to cause anguish in my husband and for trying to kill me.” She would have stabbed her more than twice, but if she continued, she would kill Bellatrix and she didn’t want that. Not yet.

After the sixth and final stab, she let out a sigh, got up and straightened herself. With her clean hand, she smoothed out her hair and the wrinkles in her clothes. She looked down at the bleeding woman, completely unfazed.

“I’m tempted to continue and slice you open,” she said casually, “let you bleed out and let your entrails spill onto the floor; cut you up until you’re nothing but an unrecognisable mess, but what would the fun in that be.”

She turned to her husband and Death Eaters. “I apologise for the mess and for potentially ruining someone’s appetite,” she said, calm and collected, her clean hand on her chest, “but I had to do what I did. She was a threat to my children, my husband and ultimately me as well. I hope that all of you, here present, have learnt a valuable lesson today, which is not to mess with my family, because it won’t end well for the other party.”

The softness and lightness of her voice and her gentle smile were in stark contrast with her bloodied right hand, still holding the knife, and the words she was speaking, that it gave Voldemort’s followers goosebumps, while Voldemort felt warm and tingly all over, itching to pull her into his arms and make love to her.

“Because when I’m good,” she continued smiling, “I can be extremely nice, but when I’m angry, I can be fatal and as you could see, I don’t need magic to overpower and kill somebody, when my opponent underestimates me and I have the element of surprise on my side.”

She called for the elves. “Yes, Mistress?” they squeaked in unison.

“It would seem I’ve created a mess,” she told them apologetically. “Winky, if you would be so kind and take care of this woman’s wounds, then transfer her to the basement and make sure she’s tied and can’t use magic.”

Winky nodded and began providing first aid to Bellatrix, then apparated away with her.

“And you, Kreacher, if you would be so kind and clean the mess at the table and on my clothes.”

Kreacher nodded and, with a few snaps of his fingers, the blood on her disappeared, together with the spilled wine at the table.

“I’ve tied the woman as you wished, Mistress,” reported Winky.

“Excellent,” grinned Aya. “Thank you, Winky, Kreacher, you’re the sweetest.” The elves beamed at the praise.

“Anything else?” Kreacher asked.

“Please, bring a new, clean glass for my husband, his current one has Amortentia mixed with the drink, so make sure to disinfect it, and a fresh knife for me; this one needs a thorough cleaning before being used to cut into any sort of food.”

She handed the knife to Kreacher and when the elves popped away, she returned to the table as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and continued eating her food.

“Please,” she said, when she noticed no one aside from her and Voldemort was eating, “continue with the meal. Both Kreacher and Winky outdid themselves and I wouldn’t want their hard work to go to waste because of me.”

The guests warily picked up their cutlery to finish the appetizer, which had gone cold by then, in awkward silence. The only one who was too distraught to eat anything was Narcissa, who was leaning against her husband, pale and in tears.

Aya heaved a sigh and addressed them again.

“I think you all know that after what happened earlier with Bellatrix, I can’t let her live, because she’s a danger to my family. She signed her death sentence with her actions and words. Darling,” she turned to him and covered his hand with hers, “I promise to get you a new, much better and more competent employee than Bellatrix. Rodolphus,” she turned to the man, “I promise to get you a new spouse, the kind that will love you, make you happy and give you children, because I’m sure your father here wants to see some grandkids, before he leaves this planet.”

Finally, she turned to Narcissa, sincere sadness on her face.

“Narcissa,” she called, “the only reason I feel bad about torturing and killing Bellatrix is the pain I’m causing you, because you don’t deserve to go through this. I sincerely hope that, as a mother and a wife, you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, because I’m sure that, were you in my position, you would have done the same to protect your family.”

Narcissa dabbed her eyes with the napkin, trying her best to compose herself. “I do and I would,” she whispered.

Aya smiled melancholically. “I’m afraid I can’t get you a replacement for your sister, but what I can do is give you what you’ve wanted for a while now … a second child.”

Teary-eyed, she looked at Aya.

“I know you and your husband don’t really like muggles, but … I believe that perhaps a muggle fertility treatment or in vitro fertilisation could help you conceive a second time. At this point, it can’t really hurt to try. I’ll look at a few fertility clinics and keep you informed of my progress.”

She sniffed and nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned with a subdued smile, “and should you wish to visit your sister, you can see her after dinner and speak with her. After that, I don’t think it would be wise for you to see her. It might take months before I finally kill her, but in the meantime, I intend to torture her in various ways and I wouldn’t want to upset you by letting you see her in a bad state.”

“I understand,” breathed Narcissa. “She brought this upon herself when she did what she did and said what she said, but she’s still my sister.”

It took a while for the rest of the meal not to feel like a funeral, but Aya managed to shift the focus from the incident with Bellatrix to something more neutral, such as learning about the background of her husband’s followers, some of their school and life experiences, and the reasons they chose to support and follow Voldemort.

If she were to have a good rapport with them, it only made sense for her to know more about them, listen to their concerns and doubts, their opinions, even when she didn’t agree with most of what they believed and thought, and help them where she could together with her husband.

…

With the guests gone, Aya decided to pay Bellatrix a visit with her husband and his horcruxes. It brought her immense joy seeing her chained up and unable to do any magic, completely at her mercy. Of course, the bitch sneered and laughed about her situation.

“If you expect me to apologise or regret my actions and words, you’re going to be disappointed,” she sneered. “The only thing I regret is not having succeeded in my endeavour.”

Aya was unfazed. “I don’t expect you to apologise or regret anything, because I think you were very clear at the dinner and with your sister, and even if you apologised or regretted doing what you did and said, I’m not stupid enough to let you live and roam around after a couple of days of torture under Cruciatus. No. You’re a danger to _our_ children,” she pointed at Voldemort and herself. “You’re a danger to the family we are forming. You’re like a venomous spider,” she whispered, “and you know what you do with venomous spiders? You squash them, before they have the opportunity to strike at you. Today, you tried, but failed and I will personally ensure that you never get the opportunity to try it again, much less succeed.”

Bellatrix cackled.

“Laugh, Bellatrix,” said Aya, smiling pleasantly, “laugh while you can, because I don’t know how long it will last you, when you won’t have any food and drink for the next 48 hours and you’ll be bathing in your own piss and shit, because I don’t think a bitch like you deserves a toilet.”

Bellatrix’s smirk faltered.

“But don’t worry,” she assured her, “I’ll keep you fed and watered, but only enough to keep you alive, and I also can’t guarantee that the food and drink will be top quality so you will probably have to experience quite a few food poisonings in the following few months, but nothing fatal.”

“And you think that will be enough to break me?” sneered Bellatrix.

“No, but it will greatly contribute to your suffering, especially when my darling here starts brewing his special potion.” She sighed contentedly, hugging him and placing a kiss on his cheek. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Most definitely,” he smirked cruelly, “I will make it extra potent.”

“Just remember that she has to survive until the end of the year,” she reminded him gently. “So I can come gloat to her about being your wife and show off my wedding ring and my pregnant stomach,” she said with a wide grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he grinned mischievously and kissed her, with a hand on her waist and the other on her lower abdomen.

“Of course, you’re more than welcome to torture her yourself as well,” she added, “but I would really like to use her for my own experiments. I finally have the opportunity to re-enact all those gruesome torture techniques I mentioned to you in that letter and many more,” she was smiling excitedly, with stars in her eyes.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to her temple, “she’s all yours to torture and kill, but I will join in on a few sessions.” He scowled at Bellatrix and she paled. “After all, she tried to do the same thing to me my mother did to my father, and take you and our kids away from me. I have a lot of anger to get out as well,” he snarled.

“My Lord,” whispered Bellatrix.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped at her.

She flinched at the hate and disgust in his voice and face. “Please, I was just trying to help you, save you. This little brat has you under a spell. She did something to you, because it’s not normal or natural for you to be interested in someone like her,” she insisted.

He sneered. “You accuse Aya of drugging me, when it couldn’t be further from the truth, yet you would have done the same thing you’re accusing Aya of to satisfy some sick and depraved obsession you have for me.”

“No,” she said desperately. “I love you. I’m the only one who does. I’m the only one who understands you.”

He took out his wand and cast Crucio at Bellatrix. She started screaming and contorting in her restraints on the floor. When he released her and she was panting, he said, “You don’t love me. You don’t understand my wants and needs. And even if you did, I don’t want you. I never have and never will. Quite honestly, you disgust me. The only one I want and will ever want is Aya. She’s the woman of my life; she is my wife and the mother of my children.”

Tears of frustration and hurt collected in her eyes and she was pressing her lips together to contain her sobs.

“Come,” he said to Aya gently, tucking his wand back in the holster, “we should go to bed. It’s been a long day and we need to get up quite early tomorrow.”

“Right,” she said in an upbeat tone as they were leaving the basement, “we need to see Barty off, but first we need to get him equipped with plenty of dog things so he can use them for Remus.”

When they left her alone in the dark, Bellatrix let out a broken sob. “I hate you, Aya Potter,” she gritted out under her breath. “I hate you.”

…

Aya woke up wrapped possessively and protectively in Voldemort’s limbs.

After the incident from the day before, he seemed adamant to cuddle with her and shower her abdomen with kisses and caresses, something she didn’t mind at all.

As they got out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a quick morning bath, she noticed a little bump that wasn’t there the night before, once she undressed down to her panties.

“Oh my God, Voldemort!” she exclaimed, brimming with excitement. “I’m showing! I’m showing!”

Voldemort was immediately beside her, inspecting her stomach area with his eyes and hands, trying to verify her claim. When he confirmed it, he grinned. “Yes,” he said gently, “you’re showing,” and pulled her into a kiss.

“Yo,” they heard Gaunt say, calling out to the rest of the horcruxes, “are you hearing and seeing this?”

“Yes, we are,” replied Tom.

All of them were gathered around the pair, their eyes glued to Aya’s slightly rounded stomach.

“Are they moving already?” asked Ramses.

“It’s still too early for that,” said Marvolo.

“You never know with triplets,” reasoned Cthulhu. “She’s in her second month and she’s already showing.”

“Since when are you an expert on pregnancies?” retorted Marvolo sarcastically.

Aya laughed. “It’s not even that much of a bump, but it’s there and I’m so excited I have to face-time my parents and Hermione.”

Voldemort let out an amused chuckle. “Just don’t take too much time; we still need to do a few things before Barty leaves for Hogwarts.”

“I know. I’ll be quick.” She hurried into the bedroom to grab her phone.

“And cover your breasts,” he called after her.

Once she was decent, she face-timed her parents first.

It took some time before they picked up, squinting at the screen, still in bed, but all traces of sleep evaporated from their features as she announced and showed them her small baby bump. After the shock of seeing her slightly protruding stomach wore off, Sirius got emotional and excited, and while Severus was more reserved in his reaction, she knew he was happy for her as well.

When she video-called Hermione and showed her the side view of her stomach, she wasn’t sure which one of them was more excited over the news, if Hermione or her, because her friend was squealing in excitement, not knowing what to do with herself.

“Aya, that’s amazing! Oh my God! You have to send me some pictures!” she gushed.

Aya laughed. “I will so that you can show the rest of the group, but remember; this information is top secret, okay?” she whispered. “No one outside our friend group can know about my pregnancy. Remember that the school will think I’m home, suffering from painful and incapacitating headaches, not expecting babies.”

“Oh, right,” breathed Hermione. “Don’t worry, I’ll meet up with the guys at one of our houses and we’ll share the happy update on your pregnancy in a more private setting,” she assured her in a whisper. Then, she gasped as if struck by some sort of realisation. “Or,” she began, “maybe, instead of pictures and me telling everyone about your baby bump, I could face-time you when we’re all together in one place and you can show them yourself.”

“That could also work, yes,” she smiled.

“Then, pay attention to your phone,” she said. “I can’t wait for the others to see your stomach. I think that at least the other girls will be just as excited as I am, because you never know with the boys.”

…

An hour and a half later, Aya and Voldemort found themselves at the local supermarket, after Voldemort made a brief trip to Gringotts to convert more money for their muggle shopping, walking along the animal food and toys section, where Aya just kept piling up dog food, both wet and dry, into their shopping cart.

When he commented on the amount of cans and bags she intended to buy, she just said, “This is nothing for a canine of that size. Barty will be lucky if this lasts him for a semester and he will still have to combine this with copious amounts of raw meat.”

“Just keep in mind that right now, we’re on a budget, because I didn’t convert _that_ much money at the bank.”

She quickly started making calculations to stay within their muggle budget and still be able to get a few toys and two small dog bowls.

“Is that also for Lupin?” he inquired.

Aya smirked cruelly. “No,” she shook her head slightly, then, leaned in to whisper in a barely audible voice, “this is for our special guest down in the basement.”

Voldemort mimicked her wicked expression. “Very fitting. I approve.”

…

At around two o’clock in the afternoon, Barty was preparing to leave for Hogwarts.

“Do you have everything you need with you?” asked Aya in the foyer.

“Yes, Aya, I have,” he sighed with a subtle smile resting on his lips. “Winky helped me pack.”

“Good,” she nodded. “However, before you go,” she reached for the charmed bag with all the dog items, “here, like promised; dog food and toys for when Professor Lupin transforms into a werewolf.”

Barty looked inside and blanked out at the sheer number of cans, bags and toys he could see at first glance.

“You will still need to supplement all this with raw meat, but let’s hope it lasts you for a while.”

“Uh … thank you,” he returned awkwardly. “I-I’ll see how it goes.”

“And if you learn anything about Dumbledore that will be relevant for our cause, inform me about it at once,” instructed Voldemort.

“I will.”

“But don’t forget to take care of yourself,” she instructed. “You have to eat, drink and sleep properly, and don’t forget to bathe regularly, wash your teeth and your hands after going peepee and poopoo and before every meal.”

He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “I know that,” he deadpanned, wondering if Aya was embarrassing him on purpose. “I’ve known this for three decades.”

“That’s good that you still know the principles of proper personal care and hygiene, even after so many years.”

“If that is everything, I think I’ll apparate to Hogsmeade now.”

“Yes, that is everything … for now,” said Voldemort and Barty apparated away.

Aya let out a sigh, still looking at the spot where Barty was standing, then looked at her husband. “I think I should visit our guest and show her what I got for her.

Voldemort chuckled. “You do that, dearest,” he caught her lips in a brief and chaste kiss, “then share her reaction with me. I’ll be in my study.”

She grinned. “Okay, darling. Good luck with your work.” She waved after him and watched him go up the stairs, then went to the kitchen where she managed to find some cold and probably spoiled leftovers from almost a week ago and put them into one of the dog bowls. She filled the other one with water.

Humming a soft and happy melody, she went to the basement and immediately gagged, as the pungent smell of urine that has been out in the open for a while filled her nostrils.

She coughed. “It’s not even been 24 hours since your imprisonment started and it already stinks this much?” she complained. “I think I’ll have to start masking my sense of smell every time I visit you, although I think that warding it would be better, so that the entire basement and mansion don’t end up smelling like piss and shit.”

When she looked at where Bellatrix was there was a yellow puddle beneath her. She still glared at her, but since she hadn’t drunk or eaten anything since the incident, it wasn’t as intense.

“How are you feeling?” she asked her light-heartedly. Bellatrix clenched her jaw and kept silent. “I hope you had a goodnight sleep and that you aren’t too thirsty and hungry, because you still have 24 hours to go until you’re allowed some water and food,” she reminded her. “Although, I went ahead and already prepared both in your new plates, ta-da!” she showed her the dog bowls.

“I bought them specifically for you,” she said happily. “I hope you like them, because this is where you’ll be eating and drinking from now on. I think I’ll leave this here, so you can eat and drink whenever you wish.” She put both bowls out of Bellatrix reach, no matter how much she tried to get to them. “I’m afraid that dogs don’t use cutlery or paws to eat and drink, so … if you want to eat and drink, you’ll just have to do it like dogs do,” she grimaced apologetically.

Bellatrix was fuming. “You’re a bitch,” she snarled.

Aya smiled. “Oh, most definitely,” she agreed. She was about to leave; when she realised she had one more thing to communicate to her prisoner. “One more thing,” she said with glee. She positioned herself sideways and lifted her T-shirt. “I’m starting to show, which means that my babies with Voldemort are alive and well, growing and developing inside me. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Bellatrix spat at her, but since she was far enough, her spit didn’t reach Aya. “Oy,” she exclaimed in mock indignation. “What a foul temper and lousy manners you have! I think you need some serious discipline training, because this kind of behaviour is not appropriate nor acceptable, even for a dog.” She huffed, spun on her heel with her chin held high, and left the basement.

…

Dumbledore welcomed Barty in his office, with the rest of the staff.

After the brief welcome, where he was acquainted with his colleagues, Lupin, who had agreed to spy, but only spy, on Dumbledore for them, volunteered to be his school guide, in order to show him the ropes.

He showed him to his classroom, office and room, where he finally asked him about the food Barty was carrying with him. Since full moon was getting close, his senses were sharper than other times.

“You see,” began Barty awkwardly, “Aya bought loads of dog food and some toys for …” he cleared his throat, “when you transform and insisted I bring everything she bought for your … wolf side with me.”

Remus reached for the bag where all the dog food was and stared blankly at the contents. “That’s a lot of food,” he commented.

Barty agreed. “But apparently, I still have to mix it with additional raw meat.”

Lupin sighed. “I appreciate the concern, and when I transform I will gladly eat and play with the toys, but I refuse to forego Wolfsbane Potion so soon.” He looked at Barty. “And I know you are supposed to keep an eye on me during the transformation itself, but please, don’t. It’s too dangerous, even with the potion.”

Barty let out a shaky breath. “I’m not looking forward to it, but apparently both Aya and Greyback think that, with food and toys, I should keep your wolf side distracted enough from the pain and other violent outbursts.”

At the mention of Greyback, Lupin paled and shuddered. “And if I still attack you, what are you going to do then?” he insisted.

“I will have my wand with me and keep you physically restrained,” shrugged Barty. “If Aya was able to restrain a dragon, I don’t see how I wouldn’t be able to keep a werewolf under control.”

Lupin sighed in resignation.

…

“You wished to speak with me, Severus?” said Dumbledore pleasantly, after the staff meeting.

“Yes, Headmaster, I’m afraid I have some not-so-good news.”

Dumbledore tensed and silence filled the office. “Is it about Voldemort?” he asked gravely. “Have you noticed anything with your mark?”

“No, it’s about Aya.”

A confused frown settled on the headmaster’s face. “Aya?” he repeated.

“Yes. Ever since the tournament ended, she’s been experiencing a lot of headaches. Very persistent and painful headaches,” narrated Severus. “When the pain got a bit too much and none of the regular pain-relief potions worked, Sirius and I contacted a healer at St. Mungo’s and had him look her. He then concluded that Aya is suffering from frequent and severe migraines that interfere with her daily routine. She has difficulty concentrating and thinking and her memory can get fuzzy at times. Because of that, he suggested we withdraw her from school, and keep her at home and, once her condition settles a bit, we should resort to home schooling instead.”

“If I understand you correctly, you’re telling me that Aya won’t be completing her magical education at Hogwarts?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t there anything you or the healers can do to let her complete Hogwarts?” he pressed. “If she already completed five years, it seems like a pity to stop her studies now when she’s two years away from graduation.”

“She won’t stop her education,” assured him Severus. “She will continue with her studies at home, but at a much lighter pace, even if it takes her more than two years. The most important thing right now is her health and a school environment would only make things worse.”

“Do her friends already know about her condition?”

“Yes, they were informed as soon as the healer gave his final verdict.” He reached into his robe pocket and handed him an envelope. “I have the healer’s observations with me,” explained Severus. “In case you’re interested.”

Dumbledore opened the envelope and started looking at the papers. There was a beat of silence as he skimmed over the symptoms, the diagnosis, the observations and conclusions, before he lifted his gaze and said, “Thank you, Severus. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll speak with the healer in person to confirm a few things myself.”

Severus gave a sharp nod and left the office.

Alone, he read the document in detail, and then apparated to St. Mungo’s, to question Healer Marcus about Aya’s condition.

He was aware that there were a few complications with her health in her first year, her allergy to an unknown magical plant, that she suffered a panic attack, and that her sense of smell was more sensitive than most people’s, which led to her losing consciousness in one of the Potions’ lessons, but nothing too serious or crippling. However, now she was suddenly suffering from a very unexpected and severe ailment, which left her unable to attend school. It left him baffled and slightly suspicious. Why now? Why so suddenly? It didn’t make sense.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dumbledore,” greeted Marcus. “What can I do for you?”

“Good afternoon,” he greeted back. “I apologise for the inconvenience, but I was informed of Aya’s illness and her withdrawal from school through one of her adoptive fathers and I just wanted to hear your opinion, first-hand,” he explained with a pleasant smile.

“Well, there’s not much to tell,” he said. “Miss Potter-Snape-Black is suffering from frequent and crippling headaches that leave her disoriented and dazed for hours, sometimes days after a migraine has subsided. I tried prescribing several different types of painkillers, both magical and muggle, but she didn’t respond well to medication. Before giving my final verdict, I consulted five other colleagues about her condition and four of them agreed with me in that she should stay at home.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “But so suddenly and at this age?”

“It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact cause or causes of her condition, because there are many factors that play a role in the causation of migraines, but it isn’t impossible for her to be afflicted by them. If anything, adolescence is a quite common period for migraines to develop in some people.”

He went to his bookshelves with magical and non-magical medicine books and took one.

“If you’re interested in knowing more about the condition,” he said, leafing through the book to reach the correct page number, “then I suggest you read about it in here. I’ll make a copy of the corresponding pages so you can read about migraines in peace.”

“Thank you, that is very kind of you,” he smiled with twinkling eyes.

…

If Dumbledore was expecting to find some loophole or logical incongruity between the medical literature and Aya’s medical notes, he was left disappointed, because everything made sense on paper, and he had no choice but to let her drop out of Hogwarts.


	11. Aya’s Doctor Thesis or Aya’s Proposal for Educational Reform & Other Reforms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Due to getting a full-time job I won't be able to update more than once a month from now on. So the next update will be four weeks from today.
> 
> If you notice any errors in grammar or continuity, tell me. I looked it over, but I am tired from work and I may have overlooked something.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy the chapter! 😇

With Barty at Hogwarts and electricity in place, Aya and Voldemort headed to the nearest shopping centre in the thestral carriage, after Voldemort made a quick trip to Gringotts to get enough muggle money, to buy everything they had planned to get for their home.

When they returned, they set up the television and other entertainment technology so Aya could re-watch the men’s singles tennis finals at the summer Olympics between Andy Murray and Juan Martin del Potro and left the rest for the following day.

“I didn’t know you were such a sports fan,” he commented as she cheered vehemently beside him when the British athlete scored the point that won him the first set.

“I may not practice sports, but I do like watching them occasionally,” she said casually, leaning into his side on the sofa, her gaze glued to the screen, eating a bowl of nuts and dried fruit. “Especially if there are championships or the Olympics, because these are special occasions. Currently, I’m supporting Andy Murray as a fellow British citizen, although, to be fair, I wasn’t his fan in 2012 when he played against Roger Federer and beat him, because I really liked Federer. I still like him, but between del Potro and Murray, I want Murray to win.”

As she said that, del Potro scored a point and she let out a frustrated groan and cursed. In the end, while the second set went to del Potro, the following two went to Murray who ended up winning the gold medal and Aya celebrated his victory with excited squeals.

“Oh my God!” she squealed, hugging Voldemort tightly. “We have gold in men’s singles for tennis! Whoop, whoop! Britain for the win!”

Voldemort snorted, more amused and entertained by Aya’s enthusiasm and excitement over a muggle winning a gold medal than by Britain winning anything in an international muggle sports gathering.

They watched a few more sporting events before bed and while Voldemort didn’t care for any of them, he enjoyed the time and company he spent with Aya and revelled in her energy, until she passed out, drooling all over his shoulder, and he gently carried her to their bedroom where they snuggled together under the sheets.

…

With two weeks until September, Aya focussed on writing her educational reform proposal, so much so that she spent most of her days reading articles and typing. A week before September, Voldemort asked her about her progress and if she would manage to have it written by the end of the month.

“I’m doing great,” she said confidently. “I have already finished the entire theoretical part and now I’m writing the improvements. I’m already a hundred pages in, which is roughly halfway, so I still need to write another hundred pages.”

“Two hundred pages?” he said, flabbergasted. “Just what are you writing that it requires that many pages?”

“What?” she said indignantly. “I’m trying to be thorough and while I do have a list of reforms I want to include, the list gets modified and expanded daily, because I keep getting new ideas and I need to include them somehow.”

He closed his eyes, pinched his nasal base and let out a sigh. “Just make sure it doesn’t turn into four hundred pages,” he said, “because then I’ll spend reading that behemoth of a proposal the same amount of time you spent writing it … or more.”

“Don’t worry, that won’t happen,” she assured him, waving her hand dismissively.

He didn’t look convinced entirely, but didn’t argue with her.

“Anyway,” he said, “I also wanted to tell you that a batch of the Emerald Potion is ready for use if you still plan to torture our basement guest.”

Aya gasped and her eyes widened in horror. “Holy shit,” she whispered and covered her mouth with her hands. “I completely forgot about Bellatrix.”

“Obviously.”

“Have Kreacher and Winky kept her alive? Because if she’s dead, this would be such a fail. I would be one of the worst torturers in history … and not in a good way.”

Voldemort laughed. “Don’t worry; they have been giving her scraps since she got here.” Aya immediately felt relieved. “I personally haven’t seen her since we imprisoned her, but we can go to the basement together and check on her and give her some special treatment.” He winked, a sadistic grin plastered on his face.

“Of course,” she agreed and stood up. “In fact, let’s go right now, before I forget about her again. Just goes to show how insignificant she is to me if I’ve already forgotten about her existence in favour of writing the educational reforms.”

“Just let me fetch a vial of the potion and we’re good to pay her a visit,” said Voldemort.

…

After a week of barely any food, water and no bath, Bellatrix’s skin became sallow; she lost quite a bit of weight, her cheeks and eyes became sunken and she looked dirty and disgusting.

“I apologise for leaving you here all alone for a week,” Aya sounded apologetic. Bellatrix barely reacted to their presence. She already looked half-dead. “Especially after I promised you pain and suffering. You see, I got distracted with something, but do not fret, from now on, I promise you that I will keep my word and be a good torturer and put you through hell,” she said earnestly. “And to prove it to you, my husband and I have brought you this delicious potion that causes immense thirst, hallucinations and excruciating abdominal pain. Just the thing to get you started for the day.”

Voldemort passed the vial to Aya, who uncorked it and offered it to Bellatrix. She of course refused the potion. “Don’t be rude.” Aya admonished her. “My husband worked really hard on this potion, we wouldn’t want his hard work to go to waste now, would we?” she smiled in a fake innocent and pleasant way, as she was prying her mouth open by squeezing her jaw. She then poured the liquid down Bellatrix’s throat.

When she forced the entire vial down Bellatrix’s throat, she let out a satisfied sound. “Refreshing, isn’t it?” she prompted happily. “Just give it a minute to kick in and that’s when the real fun will begin. Well … fun for my husband and I. You, on the other hand, won’t enjoy it as much, I suppose.”

A couple of minutes later, Bellatrix started groaning and twisting in pain, while begging for water and calling out to Voldemort, asking him not to marry Aya and confessing his love for him again. He didn’t appreciate it, so he waved with his wand and spelled her mouth shut, which gave Aya an excellent idea.

“Say, darling, what if we cut out her tongue?” she proposed excitedly, her eyes sparkling. “That way she would finally stop getting on our nerves. I would have preferred sewing her mouth shut, but it would be a hassle to remove and redo the stitches to let her eat and drink.

“It might be a hassle,” he said, “but it would be worth it, especially since she will be in constant pain. Personally, I think you should do both.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I think I will do both. Kreacher!” she called. The elf popped right next to her.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“I would like you to get me a long knife, a needle and some thread, please.”

He nodded and disappeared. It didn’t take long for him to return with the requested items. Aya beamed at Kreacher and accepted them graciously, then returned her attention to Bellatrix and approached her with the knife.

The woman looked at her with pure horror and started thrashing in an attempt to get away from her, albeit unsuccessfully. She started to whimper in fear and pain. Aya almost felt bad for her … almost. Actually, not at all. She felt giddy seeing her like that. After she dared to do what she did and even looked smug about it, she couldn’t muster a single speck of sympathy for Bellatrix.

Voldemort helped her restrain her and even kept her mouth open with a spell so she could cut out Bellatrix’s tongue. It felt satisfying slicing through the flesh, making blood gush out and listen to Bellatrix scream in agony.

It wasn’t until she had gone through with it that she realised she should have probably had some disinfectant on hand to prevent any infections from happening. She called for Winky this time and asked her for some alcohol. “So I can pour it over her wound, and keep it clean,” she said, referring to Bellatrix.

The kind Winky was back with a bottle of whisky almost immediately. Aya callously poured it in Bellatrix’s mouth, causing her to fight against Voldemort’s restraints and let out another howl of pain.

“Incredible, Bellatrix,” smiled Aya. “I am not an expert in musical notes, but I do believe I just made you scream an octave higher than before. I count that as an achievement and I look forward to hearing your vocal capacity in the future as well.”

“Maybe you should become a vocal coach,” suggested Voldemort jokingly.

She laughed. After Voldemort stopped the bleeding, Aya moved onto sewing Bellatrix’s mouth together, while humming a pleasant melody under her breath, although one could hardly hear it due to Bellatrix’s cries. This time, the pain got to her and she fainted in the middle of the process.

“And done,” she announced with pride as she cut the thread and admired her work. She turned to Voldemort. “What do you say?”

“It’s a nice piece of work,” he complimented. “Although, I must confess that, as much as it is satisfying to hear the screams of agony, towards the end I got a headache from listening to her.”

“I will make sure to silence her halfway next time.” She placed a chaste and loving kiss on his lips.

“That will be much appreciated,” he smirked, hugging her waist.

…

_18 August 2016_

Only three days after Barty moved to Hogwarts, Remus went through his monthly werewolf transformation and, as agreed, Barty accompanied him during that process.

After dinner, they slipped out of the Great Hall, went to their rooms to get everything; Remus the wolfsbane potion and Barty the bag with dog food and toys; and used the secret passageway to Hogsmeade. They then headed straight for the Shrieking Shack under strong disillusionment charms.

Once inside the dilapidated and dusty building, they set up everything for when the night would fall and the full moon would appear. They talked a bit to fill the silence and to ease the tension that built with every passing minute.

When the decisive moment arrived, Remus’ body flared up in pain, his bones cracking and morphing, his internal organs shifting, his entire body changing. Barty stood at the ready with his wand, his hand tightly clenched around the wooden handle while his other hand held onto a hefty piece of raw meat.

When the grotesque form of the werewolf Moony replaced Remus, Barty held his breath and didn’t dare to move. The wolf growled and howled in pain, but his attention quickly shifted to him and the meat in his hand. As the werewolf headed towards him on his hind legs, Barty threw the piece of meat towards it and away from himself.

The wolf dove after it and caught it before it touched the ground, crushing and mauling it with his jaws. It took the creature less than a minute to gobble it down and then it turned its attention back on him.

It approached him with measured steps, sniffing the air around him. Barty remained unmoving. He let the creature inspect him. When the creature finally learnt enough about him through scent, something curious and unexpected happened.

The wolf whimpered and tackled him to the ground, licking his face and trying to get his tongue inside his mouth. Barty stiffened and didn’t fight back, but he was reluctant to allow him entrance. He vaguely recalled Aya telling him about wolves licking the inside of another wolf’s mouth as some sort of greeting … or was it something else? In any case, he didn’t want to have a wolf’s tongue shoved down his throat, regardless of the meaning behind the gesture, but the insistent pressure against his lips made him succumb and he parted them for Moony who eagerly began licking the inside of his mouth.

Barty thought it would be over in a few seconds, but the wolf just kept licking and licking and Barty started feeling extremely uncomfortable. The last thing he needed was a kissing session with a werewolf in his wolf form.

When the wolf finally stopped licking his mouth, it started nudging his hand and trying to get his head under his palm. “Do you want me to pet you?” he asked the wolf and the wolf only whimpered back and repeated the gesture.

“Okay, I’ll pet you,” said Barty and carefully combed his fingers over the werewolf’s head and neck. The wolf closed its eyes, flopped down on its side and one of his hind legs started to twitch.

After a couple of minutes, Barty recalled Aya’s talk about providing a massage to ease the pain and while he wasn’t a qualified werewolf masseur, he tried his best to provide Moony with some comfort and the wolf seemed to appreciate it … a bit too much it would seem judging by his insistent licking.

When Moony didn’t look to be in pain anymore, he opened a few cans of dog food and fed him, then took out a few toys to see how he would react to them. He didn’t like them, in fact he didn’t show any interest in them whatsoever, instead he was more interested in harmlessly nibbling his fingers and nuzzling, sniffing and licking his crotch than anything else.

“Do you want to go outside then?” asked him Barty. Moony nodded. Barty sighed, debating whether to let him into the open world or not. “Fine,” he ended up succumbing. “We’ll go outside, but only if you promise not to go where it’s populated with people.”

Moony barked and Barty took it as him agreeing to his condition. ‘What am I doing?’ he wondered. ‘Having an intelligent conversation with a werewolf. I hope Remus doesn’t remember this night, because it will be extremely uncomfortable if he remembers all the licking, sniffing and nuzzling of my clothed dick.’

He made sure there was no one outside and then steered Moony towards the trees. Once they were at a safe distance from the village, he let him run freely and the wolf took off in an instant, but never strayed too far from him. He observed him explore the forest, until he spotted a wild animal and chased it. Not long after, he returned with a bloodied muzzle and a deer between its teeth. He dropped it in front of Barty, looking expectantly at him.

Barty didn’t know what Moony was trying to communicate with this. Did he want to be praised for killing the deer? “Good job, Moony,” he said and petted his head, but the wolf kept pointing at the deer with his nose and nudging it closer to him.

‘What does he want?’ he wondered, until he understood. “Oh, you brought dinner for me too?”

Moony nodded.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t eat raw meat, so you can eat it.”

Moony looked stumped. He turned and went into the forest again and this time returned with an apple branch in his mouth with the apples still attached to it … mostly.

He rewarded him with more praise and pets and this time accepted the food offering and Moony ate the deer meat.

…

By 31 August, Aya finished her education reform proposal, printed it, bound it and took it to her husband.

“Here,” she announced, dropping the two-hundred-page stack of papers in front of Voldemort on his desk, “my Doctor Thesis. Well … not really, but with how long it is it might as well be.”

Voldemort leafed through it. “I’ll read it and let you know what I think.”

“Okay,” she grinned. “Take your time, I’ll start doing school stuff tomorrow and now, I’ll be in the living room relaxing and playing videogames, but before I do that, I think I’ll visit Bellatrix again and torture her some more. I am thinking of breaking all of her fingers with a mallet. Or should I carve her up. What do you say?”

“It doesn’t really matter which one you do first,” said Voldemort, “you will eventually do both.”

“You’re right. Then, I’ll do the mallet today and the carving a few days from now.” Being mindful of her increasingly growing pregnant belly, she leaned over the desk to catch his lips in a kiss. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

“Have fun torturing Bellatrix and playing videogames,” he called after her.

“I will.”

She left the office and he let out a heavy sigh. “That was close,” he whispered under his breath. He couldn’t believe she was so close to catching a glimpse of the texts about immortality. Thank Salazar that they were in foreign languages.

…

Despite its intimidating length, Voldemort managed to read the entire thing in a week, mostly due to Aya’s writing, which flowed very nicely. It had a certain flare to it, so it never got stale or tedious to read.

The topics she covered were very educational and interesting and he learned a lot about human memory, child development, teaching and learning, learning disabilities and others, such as multiple intelligence theory. However, the most intriguing part of the entire proposal was Aya’s proposition to gamify the teaching process in order to increase student motivation and to improve their grades.

She drew her inspiration from role-playing style videogames. Each student would be their own character, earning experience points through different school activities or quests (main and side quests), such as active participation during class, homework, extra reading and writing assignments, good behaviour, etc. Any rule breaking or bad and inappropriate behaviour would result in deduction of experience points. Once a student had reached a certain amount of experience points, they would get an O as a reward for their effort. The exams, which would be semestral instead of annual, would still provide a separate grade, but this additional grade could boost the overall scores of students.

It would certainly be an interesting project, but they would need to conduct an experiment first to see if this system would work and if it would really prove to be a good motivator for students to invest energy and time into schoolwork and strive for exemplary behaviour.

…

With so many good and fresh ideas listed in the proposal, Voldemort felt like he could ask for Aya’s opinion on how to handle vampires. She seemed passionate about spa centres for werewolves; surely, she would come up with something for vampires as well.

“Well,” she began, seated in his lap, “I would first register all vampires in the country to know exactly how many there are in the UK. Then, I would ask them about their diet, whether they _need_ to consume _human_ blood or if it can come from other warm-blooded mammals and if they can perhaps eat normal food as well. If their diet _has_ to consist of human blood, then I would opt for a wizarding blood bank where vampires could buy packs of blood according to blood type. Wizards don’t really need blood transfusions because they have the Blood Replenishing Potion, but they can still donate blood for vampires and then just drink the potion to recover from any excessive blood loss.”

“What about those who are adamant to drink only straight from the blood source?” he prompted, cupping and caressing her rounded belly.

“If the donor has given their consent and they know what’s involved, then I suppose they can do it,” she sighed tiredly, “although if you ask me, they should only limit that to significant others and leave other people be. I don’t care if it brings pleasure or not, you can’t just go around letting them drink directly from you like you’re a walking carton of juice, and vampires can’t just treat other, non-vampire, human beings like bottles of wine or juice and drink directly from them whenever they feel thirsty.”

“But what if they offer money?” pressed Voldemort. “Just like how people sell their bodies for money, vampires could pay people to let them drink the blood directly from them.”

“True and I suppose that people would want some kind of payment to donate their blood too, but again, if both parties are fine with that kind of arrangement, then so be it, I personally don’t like the idea of making it random, just like how I don’t like promiscuity and promiscuous people. I don’t see the point in pursuing meaningless encounters just for the physical pleasure or to relieve stress when you can masturbate.”

“Agreed,” he kissed her temple. “I could never be with someone who isn’t someone very dear to me. In fact, I could never be with anyone else but you. You are the only one for me.”

She beamed and hugged his neck. “Me too. I only want to be with you.”

They kissed, intertwining their tongues, eagerly exploring each other’s mouths. When they separated for air, they rested their foreheads together and enjoyed one another’s proximity.

“You know,” smirked Voldemort, nuzzling her nose. She murmured. “With how many refreshing and good ideas you have for the wizarding society, maybe I should just pass my title onto you and you can rule in my stead.”

She laughed boisterously at his suggestion. “Thank you for the offer and the compliment, but I think I’ll pass. You can keep your title, I don’t want it. Too much stress.”

Now it was Voldemort’s turn to laugh. “That it is,” he agreed. “That it is.”


End file.
